Always with protection
by MoonWallker
Summary: Jazz should always use protection when trying to hack the enemy. The consequences are not exactly pleasant.
1. Arc One: When Fire met Ice

**Title:** Always with protection**  
Author:** pjlover666**  
Pairing:** Prowl/Jazz in the later chapters.**  
Universe:** Bayverse, AU**  
Rating:** PG13, but it might go up.**  
Warnings:** Violence.**  
Word count:** ~ 4,200**  
Summary:** Jazz should always use protection when trying to hack the enemy. The consequences are not exactly pleasant.**  
Author Notes:** This is a big story. Expect a lot of twist and turns. Everything will get explained as the story progresses.**  
Disclaimer:** Transformers doesn't belong to me.

* * *

Arc One

Chapter One: When Fire met Ice.

* * *

::Ah'm in the command room, 'bots.::

::Hurry, Jazz. I don't know how much time we can give you.::

::Sure thing boss.:: The cameras in the room where already deactivated as a small silver form made its way to the biggest monitor. ::Ah'll delete all of it, but can't Ah-::

::No.:: The command was firm. ::Counterstrike and I will download the needed info, you just stick to your task.::

It was obvious that only officers had access to this place, due to the hard time getting in. It was a dark room, filled with many computers, each used for surveillance. But none compared to the one in the center – it was huge, the screen taking 1/3 of the room. The saboteur was almost anticipating hacking this marvelous piece of technology.

::Why the frag _not_?:: Jazz asked annoyed as he plugged in, ::Stupid 'cons, Ah can extract the info, why would Ah delete it?!::

::Jazz, do not test me right now – this is not a battle simulation.::

::It might as well be – this is too fragging easy.:: Streams of data started flowing on the monitor and Jazz smirked. _Sparkling's play_.

::Just delete it and get out, this is **not** a request. Do this and the AI running their entire base will crash.::

::Yeaaah, 'bout that.:: Jazz effortlessly past the first firewalls on his way, ::Shouldn't it be, ya know? _Harder_ to get to it?::

::It just shows how much confidence they have in their AI system. It has the power to predict battle outcome, and that's something the Decepticons should _not_ posses.::

:: Yup, that's why _we_ should have it.::

::For the love of Primus you insubordinate glitch, just delete it. And don't simply blow it up – it has backups where to hide.::

:: Fiiine.:: Jazz cut the line as it was getting harder to concentrate – the firewalls were getting stronger and more traps appeared, filled with viruses.

"Stupid Nightbeat." Jazz muttered to himself as he worked, "So what if he's head of Spec. Ops. Ah know my stuff, Ah can take ya out, make ya our asset." He glared at the monitor.

"Come _on_." He tried accessing the same file a couple of times, "Why won't ya open… file P-042229? What the frag is P-04- _OH SLAG_!" Suddenly, Jazz found himself on his knees, electrical surges passing through him. He didn't disconnect but he was quick to leave the file alone.

Frame still twitching, Jazz stood up just as a huge pair of optics flared on the screen, staring down at him. "Now there's somethin' ya don't see every orn." He stared back at the optics.

_Abort now and no further actions will be taken._

A deep, monotone voice boomed from everywhere in the room as the optics kept staring down at Jazz emotionlessly.

"Cute little program, ain'tcha?" Jazz stared back challengingly at the screen, "Ya caused a lot of processor aches for some on mah buddies. Too bad it's the end of the line for ya."

Jazz had heard that the Decepticons possessed some kind of a computer able to predict outcome of battles and create battle strategies. It truly was a masterpiece of technology, an accomplishment for their time. Yet, it was nothing but a killing machine for Jazz – he knew all too well how many of his comrades have perished because of it.

_Statement repeated. Abort now._

"Uhhg, do ya always have to speak so boring-like?" Jazz asked as he cracked his neck, getting ready to do some real hacking.

::Jazz, how are you on progress?:: Nightbeat's voice sounded strained.

::Little busy right now.:: Jazz barely had started and he was already assaulted with firewalls and viruses, his every move countered.

::Well, _hurry_. You don't have much time.::

::Yeah, yeah.:: Jazz was too distracted as the comms went dead, leaving him to work.

"Oh, come on!" Jazz growled frustrated, "That was my best viral cocktail!" It didn't even make the optics on the screen flicker.

Suddenly, another electrical surge hit him, only this time it was accompanied with a virus. Jazz was quick to neutralize it, the virus only able to do little damage to his firewalls.

"Ya play dirty, P." Jazz tried a different approached. He was only able to enter about three folders until he was assaulted again with more viruses.

_My designation is P-042229_

"Ha!" Jazz leaned on the terminal, his hands shaking, "Funny, are ya annoyed because I got passed yer first layer of firewalls or because Ah called ya that? Yer a funny AI." Jazz smirked as the screen that used to be black in color, covered in binary coding and those red optics staring back at him, turned neon pink – only the optics remained unfazed. As always, if Jazz were to destroy something, it would be done in style. The red optics just kept staring blandly on the pink screen.

"That color looks good on ya."

_You will not be able to deactivate me. I am the ultimate Artificial Intelligence ever created by master Shockwave. _

Jazz ignored the voice as he focused more on his task.

_You and your comrades will lose this fight. I have predicted as much._

"Yeah, Ah forgot ya were clairvoyant." Jazz exhaled heavily with his vents. Primus, this thing countered his every move!

_No, I am sufficient. You on the other hand are reckless. Predictable._

Jazz gasped as another set of viruses assaulted him ruthlessly. So this was what the lunatic Shockwave created. The ultimate offense and defense system.

"See, this is where yer wrong. Nothin' in war is ever predictable, 'specially _me_." With great effort Jazz was able to pass the second set of firewalls. Despite everything, some form of thrill, _excitement_, past through him as he delved deeper into the coding.

_Autobot designated Jazz. New recruit, undergoing Special Operations training under current commander Nightbeat. Information about Jazz is insufficient as more research is needed. Current observation, along with scarce background, states that you are smart and showing great potential._

_However- young age, impulsiveness and reckless behavior is detrimental to success. Predicted outcome: Autobot Jazz has 28,0043% chance of survival on the field._

"Oh shut up." Jazz reset his optics. There was no time to deal with the viruses program was pummeling him with; he'll fix them himself later, "Ah swear, listening to ya talk is even more boring than the safety lectures they give me."

_Perhaps Autobot Jazz should listen to them._

"Whoa…You have sense of humor?" Jazz asked dryly, "Now that's a first – ya officially win the AI award of the vorn."

_Next set of attacks will be lethal. Disconnect now._

"Did you just narrow your optics at me?" Jazz shook his head, trying to clear it, "Stupid AI…"

_Why do you insist on doing this? You will not win against me and will probably kill yourself in the process – it is detrimental to the Autobot cause. Every death is a great loss_.

Jazz snorted, "Tell that to yer leader." He glared at the screen, "Don't ya dare talk to me about the Autobot cause." Jazz barked, "Ya have no idea what we are fighting for."

_And you do? You just got upgraded in your adult frame and are with no actual experience – you fight for a war you have no idea why it started in the first place._

"As if ya know."

_I do._

"Ah highly doubt that, _program_." Jazz grinned triumphantly as he passed another set of traps.

_Megatron fights for equality. Vorn 259 the Council-_

"Spare meh the history lesson." Jazz narrowed his optics, "_Ah don't care_! All Ah care is that Ah'm here now, it's still raging on and Ah'm fighting in it! I was created 200 vorns later, but Ah know nothing has changed since then! Nothing! Well…not nothing – Megsy changed. Ah think he forgot what he was fighting for with all the power he possessed."

_Are you stating you would have joined the Decepticons if you were able to join the war at its beginning?_

Jazz's lips tinned, his frown growing, "Yeah, Ah would have."

_That is treason._

"No, it's not. Things change, Megatron changed, the Council is no more thanks to Sentinel Prime, but does yer leader see that? Nope. Change is a constant and sooner or later, this fragging war will end, for better or for worse."

_Illogical. Why did you choose the Autobots?_

"Ah didn't know that they included psych programmin' into ya."

_Do not avoid the question Autobot._

"Do not test meh, AI." Jazz rubbed his face, a headache coming strong.

::Jazz, we're rolling out! Get out of there.::

::Gimme a sec, Ah can do it!::

::There's no time! Just leave it! I would rather have you alive – next time we'll try again.::

::There won't be a next time!:: Jazz's vision blurred due to the strain on his systems, ::The AI's good, _reaaal_ good. The 'cons will hide it and we'll never find it then.::

Suddenly, the entire base shook as an explosion rocked the ground.

::Get out, now! That is an _order_ soldier!:: And Jazz knew that when his mentor used _that_ tone, it was best if he heeded it.

"Slag, slag, slag." Jazz backed away from all the files he was able to break in and entered the computer's schematics, "Well, it's been swell P-042229, but Ah gotta go." Jazz smirked when he found where the laser core and memory backs were kept. At least the cons will have a rough time fixing it.

Another electrical surge hit Jazz, accompanied with a viral cocktail. His form swayed as he fell on his knees, gasping.

_You should have listene-_

Jazz gave a crazy grin as energon dripped from his lips and stood up on trembling legs, "And _ya_ should have listened ta _meh_. Ah'm not as predictable as ya think Ah am."

_What. Did. You. _Do_?_

The still pink screen and red optics started flickering as the AI tried to deal with the damage.

"Yeah, that's not so pleasant, is it?" Jazz glared at the screen, his smile vanishing, "I simply re-routed the surge, acted as a buffer. Oh, yeah – same goes for the nasty viruses ya sent me."

With all of his strength, Jazz used his claws, ripping the terminal away, exposing its inner workings. The screen no longer had the schematics on it, but Jazz had downloaded them previously.

Jazz blew a kiss at the screen mockingly and without hesitation ripped the laser core and memory banks. The optics flickered out of existence and the screen went black.

Jazz felt his vents exhale the air he didn't know he was holding. "That was intense…" He whispered in a shaky voice and disconnected himself. Never before had he engaged such a dangerous program. If he failed, his entire personality would have been wiped. "Ah just danced with the most badaft AI ever created…"

A second explosion rocked the building, returning Jazz to his senses. He swayed heavily as he tried to walk away. A second attempt made him fall.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…" Jazz gritted his denta and tried to stand up again, "He didn't get my motor functions… tell meh the slagger didn't get my motor functions… so get the frag up!" Jazz tried to stand up again but his legs failed.

"Damn it!" He off lined his optics and searched for his coding, searched his red warnings that he had dismissed at the time, "Where _are_ ya?"

::Jazz! Jazz?! You have 1 breem to reach us or we'll be forced to leave without you.:: Nightbeat wasn't happy but Jazz knew he had no choice.

"Where the frag are ya…." Why couldn't he find it?! It surely wasn't deleted; a virus couldn't have deleted it…could it?

Suddenly, all of the red warnings vanished and beautiful, _wonderful_ code started to flow on his HUD. Jazz cried out in happiness as he found the problem and was quick to fix it.

"There _is_ a God…" He grinned, his luck never fading and wobbled his way towards the exit. He stopped suddenly and turned to look at the dark screen, the terminal below it sporting a huge sparking hole.

"It was fun meetin' ya, P-042229." Jazz turned to leave, this time not turning back.

* * *

"Nightbeat, permission to strangle your pupil?"

"Not granted, Ratchet. I prefer him alive."

Jazz grinned at the medic as various cables were still attached to his cranium. The dark, slim figure of Nightbeat sighed tiredly as Ratchet turned to glare at the head of Ops.

"Ah knew ya cared!"

"Hardly, I've spent too many joors training your ungrateful aft." Nightbeat shook his head, "Will he be alright Ratchet? No permanent damage has been inflicted?"

Ratchet looked at the monitor readings again, making sure for the hundredth time that everything was alright, and nodded. "Yeah, he'll be fine. He'll have one Pit of a headache tough."

"Ouch."

"Damn right, _ouch_." The medic bit out, "Do you want to know how many viruses I cleaned up? Well, let me tell you- exactly 152! What the frag did you do?! _Willingly_ lower your firewalls?"

Jazz shifted in his seat, not really interested in the conversation, "What part of the best AI ever created didn't ya understand? Ah never expected it to be _this_ good."

"Yes." Nightbeat said more seriously, "If we knew it would be like this, then we would have sent someone with more experience. But luckily, Jazz was able to destroy it at the last moment."

"Yer welcome."

"That wasn't a compliment." Softbite, the Autobot's current CMO entered the room, "Some orn your luck will run out, scraplet!" The medic growled. Despite his name, Softbite had nothing in common with it.

Jazz visibly flinched as Nightbeat and Ratchet smirked, "Ah thought Ratchet would disconnect me."

"My apprentice worked the entire night cycle to defrag and clean that CPU of yours. He doesn't need to tire himself more."

Jazz was almost tempted to pull the wires out himself, because when Softbite decided, he could be downright brutal to his patients.

"But Jazz." Now the CMO sounded serious, "The damage you received was extensive. The viruses… how they didn't eat away all of your coding, the fact that you are not _drooling_ right now – it's a miracle."

"Or Primus simply likes me?" Jazz suggested making the medics in the room to snort.

"Hardly." Ratchet shook his head, "You shouldn't have been able to gain access to your motor functions, not without deleting the virus. And for that to happen so fast you needed its codes, which at the time, I'm certain you didn't posses."

Jazz shook his head, trying to remember, "Ah don't know. Most of it is pretty fuzzy. It just…happened? Luck Ah guess."

"You are turning out to be my luckiest agent." Nightbeat said. "And I don't mean it as a compliment, because one orn that luck will run out." He turned to look at the medics, "When will he return to work?"

"Ratchet, I would like to hear your prognoses." The CMO loved to quiz his pupil.

Because Ratchet never disappointed, "I would suggest he started work the next orn and took this one off. The headache will only get stronger. If he recharged his systems will recover and it would be like the entire ordeal never happened." The medic in training sighed, "But this is Jazz we are talking about, he will do anything _but_ recharge, so light duty for the next two orns."

"Excellent."

"Well, you heard the nice doctors Jazz." Nightbeat started to leave the med bay. "I expect you on monitor duty for the second shift."

Jazz saluted, "Got it, boss!" Until, suddenly he yelped. He turned to glare at Softbite who now held the multiple cables that used to be connected to him.

"Little warning next time." He hissed.

"Next time don't slag yourself up. Now get out of my med bay."

Jazz hopped off the berth, muttering about insane medics and stupid coding.

* * *

Jazz stood in front of the Rec Room door, contemplating should he go in, or avoid it.

"C'mon mech, stop bein' such a fledgling. Get it together." His vents took a deep intake and slowly released it. He started to walk forward and the doors automatically opened. As soon as entered, every conversation stopped as all optics focused on him.

"It's just _so_ good ta be back." Jazz muttered to himself and went straight for the energon dispenser.

"Heya Jazz." Blaster greeted him. "Nice to see ya in one piece, mech."

Jazz grinned at him. "Thanks. Ah see things didn't miraculously change in my absence."

"You expected something different?" Blaster sipped from his energon.

"A mech could hope." Jazz waited for his cube to get filled.

"So is it true that ya had over a hundred viruses in ya?"

"Ahhh, gossip, how Ah've missed thee." Jazz laughed, "If yer gonna do something, do it in style, or don't bother to do it at all, as mah mentor would say." He took his cube and turned to search for a table to sit. "On second thought," He returned the nasty looks some of the mechs were sending him, "Ah'm not feelin' too good."

"Jazz…"

"Ah'll see ya at the comms, pall." Jazz turned to leave, hearing a quiet "See yeah."

The walk to his quarters was quiet, thank Primus. Jazz entered the code and walked in. Like usual, the room seemed untouched, as most agent rooms looked, since they didn't stay too long in them to actually make a mess. Thought his side of the room did posses traces of his personality – the scattered holo cubes, various data pads and an oddly shaped blue crystal.

His roommate, Mirage, was almost never there. Apparently, he was some hotshot spy and got assigned the most dangerous of missions. So Jazz had the room to himself most of the time.

He rubbed his face tiredly, feeling the headache Ratchet mentioned, growing stronger. He plopped himself on the berth and started sipping from his cube. Jazz activated his internal audio system and music started to play. He had around two joors to crash until his shift started. Might as well see what Ratchet tweaked that he wasn't supposed to in his codes. Jazz liked to… _improvise_, even if it irked the medics.

Not even two breems had passed and Jazz already found several changes made by the medic in training. The most pressing one was about the transformation sequences for his alt mode and hidden weapons. Jazz had his own transformations that saved him quite some time but the risk of putting too much strain on his struts was too high for a medic to allow that, so Ratchet always reset them.

"What?!" Jazz dropped his cube as he sat up straighter. This couldn't be right.

'Access denied' the letters wrote.

"This is _mah_ fraggin' code!" Jazz growled as he read the screen, "Impossible!"

He tried to access it again, but the same denial appeared. What the frag had Ratchet _done_ to him?! He tried overwriting the medic's codes, a feat that not many possessed, but still the access was denied.

_Access is denied. That ability is detrimental to your health._

Jazz felt like purging and jumping right out of his armor all at the same time. He jumped from the berth, pressing against the nearest wall. Red optics flared on his HUD as the same cold, monotone voice boomed in his audios, the music having been turned off.

"Oh…slag…" Jazz breathed. All he could see were the emotionless optics, "YOU!"

_I am surprised you didn't figure this out earlier._

"_Surprised_?! Yer a fraggin' _program_! Oh Primus…" Jazz felt like ripping his visor out if it meant getting rid of the red optics. "This can't be happenin'…"

_Think about it. I was the one that gave you the code that reactivated your motor functions and made sure the other viruses did no further damage_.

"It was _yer_ damn fault Ah had them in the first place!" Jazz yelled. "What the frag are ya doin' in mah head?!"

_It is your doing that caused this. I would have been destroyed if I stayed in my previous host. Your firewalls were already damaged and your body was weakened-_

"Because ya kept electrocuting meh!"

_You downloaded my schematics. It was all I needed to transfer myself, insuring my survival._

Jazz slid to the ground, "Ah'm dead. Ah'm _so_ dead – either by yer doing or by my boss murdering me for allowing this to happen. Everyone's in danger with ya here."

The optics on the screen were frightening to look at and Jazz flinched when the voice started again.

_I understand your surprise, but I am not a threat to you nor the Autobots anymore._

Jazz stood up from the ground and hurriedly went to one of his data pads. With trembling hands he quickly pulled out an access cable and connected. Data streams started flowing on the screen.

_Jazz, you cannot delete me, no matter how hard you try._

And did Jazz _try_. "Shut up."

_I have infuses with your coding which means I am a part of you now._

"Zip it!"

The program stayed silent, but when Jazz gasped as he tweaked something he shouldn't have, the voice returned.

_You have no access, not without my permission. _

"This is **my** own damn body!"

_Not anymore._

Jazz growled as he tried again, only to fail once more.

_You have control over your functions –my job is to make sure you don't deactivate yourself. I said, I am not a threat, Jazz. Please believe me when I say this._

"Ohh, ya _did not_ just use _**please**_!" Jazz bit out, disconnecting from the data pad only to start writing binary code directly to his HUD. "Not a threat?! Because of ya, many of my comrades _died_! And how about the 152 viruses ya gave me!?"

_That was before. This is now. I share this body with you. If you get hurt, I get hurt. If you die, I die. My greatest priority by coding is to survive, which means you must, at all costs, survive as well – that is my difference with the rest AI's ever created. _

"Ah said BE SILENT!"

_You will harm yourself. Stop it._

"_Arggggg_!" Jazz smashed his fist into the nearest thing he could find, which turned out to be the wall, leaving a huge dent in it. The next moment he stormed out, heading for the med bay. The few bots he encountered were quick to make themselves scarce because of his rigid form.

_It will not work. A medic, no matter how good, will not be able to delete me. Not without deleting your spark coding and wiping you out._

"Softbite will fix this." Jazz kept muttering to himself, "He can fix anything. He can do it. He and Ratchet can fix me. They can fix me…."

_Or, to ensure the safety of the army, they could wipe you out._

Jazz haltered right in front of the med bay. He clenched and unclenched his fists, a look of uncertainty on his face.

_48,832%. Are you willing to take that chance?_

The red optics narrowed as Jazz swallowed. One thing united all spies together, no matter Decepticon or Autobot like – they trusted _no one_ but themselves. And Jazz was no exception to this. But, unlike them, now Jazz didn't trust himself either. So what was he supposed to do?

Suddenly, the med bay doors opened and Ratchet walked out, looking surprised to find someone there, "Jazz, is something wrong?" He had already pulled out a scanner when Jazz forced a smile.

"Everything's fine Ratch'. Just…the headache is stronger than Ah thought it would be."

Ratchet sighed, "Which is why I insisted on you taking today off. That's normal. After all, you did get electrocuted a couple of times and swarmed with over a hundred viruses, all in one Joor."

"Yeah," Jazz stared at the optics that only he could see, "Ah figured as much. Hey, is it too late to take the rest of the orn off?"

"No, I don't think so. As long as you inform Nightbeat. I'm surprised you've come to your senses."

Jazz gave a grin, "Ya know me, Ratch'. Always unpredictable."

The medic snorted, "I'll say. Go rest, now."

"Will do." Jazz started to walk back to his quarters.

_A wise choice._

"Ah will end you." Jazz said surprisingly calm, solidifying his statement, "Ah _will_ end you."

The optics slowly faded out of existence, leaving Jazz blissfully alone, thought the spy knew he was still there, prowling his mind. He couldn't stop the shudder that escaped.

* * *

**TBC**


	2. The shadows that haunt us

**Title:** Always with protection**  
Author:** pjlover666**  
Pairing:** Prowl/Jazz in the later chapters.**  
Universe:** Bayverse, AU**  
Rating:** PG13, but it might go up.**  
Warnings:** Violence.**  
Word count:** ~ 4,300**  
Summary:** Jazz should always use protection when trying to hack the enemy. The consequences are not exactly pleasant.**  
Author Notes:** Not much action from AI P-042229; more in the next chapters.**  
Disclaimer:** Transformers doesn't belong to me.

* * *

Chapter Two: The Shadows that Haunt us.

* * *

It was a long night for Jazz, as he paced in his room. He rubbed his face every once and a while, as his head felt like someone was pounding on it from the inside. Damn headache…

_Please, rest._

The loud rev of an engine was the only response - slagger was even being polite. With each passing click, Jazz more and more realized how fragged he really was. The program, the stupid AI _P-042229_ had direct access to his codes – to _everything_. If the thing ever decided to take over, Jazz would be powerless to stop it.

And Jazz detested that. Feeling defenseless – he _hated_ that.

He was breaking protocol by not seeing a medic, but … a part of him knew the outcome from that – complete wipe out. 'Jazz' would be no more. It was a selfish reason, but Jazz had so much more to live, so much life that he didn't want to lose himself just yet. But he was willing to do it – he would rather see himself die then let his body be used like a fragging puppet.

_Jazz-_

"Shut up! Just shut the frag up! Ah'm trying to think…"

His fists clenched an unclenched – what was he going _to do_?! A part of him whispered reassurance that if the AI was going to do something, it would have already done it, but Jazz would be slagged if he believed it. He needed more knowledge.

Jazz's pacing stopped as his mind finally came to a decision.

"Ah swear, if ya try anything funny, Ah will rip mah very own spark out , Ah will." He growled, "Ah would rather die than let someone else command my body what to do."

_That is not something you should concern yourself about. My one and only priority – your survival._

Jazz growled at that the expressionless optics staring at him, "Yeah, Ah got that the first couple'o hundred times you said that."

_And I will keep repeating it until you trust me enough to do a simple shut down. Your systems are getting very stressed._

"Whatever." Jazz left his room, the corridor dim and quiet during the night cycle, "Just stop prowlin' mah mind, slagger." And luckily got no response to that.

Jazz walked in the shadows, not really wanting to draw attention, as he made his way to the Archive room. Being stationed in Iacon, on one of the largest Autobot bases on Cybertron, had its perks.

"Mech," Jazz started as walked into a very big room, filled with monitors and probably over a million archives, "Ah swear, Ah'm yer only contact with the livin'."

"Primus, Jazz!" A large mech turned to look at him, "I hate it when you sneak up on me."

Jazz grinned and plopped himself cross-legged on a free seat.

"Please, sit down like a sane mech, or better yet, _pretend_ to be one."

"And if yer going to insult someone, don't do it so politely." He untangles his legs only to place them on the terminal. "Orion, seriously – ya need more contact with the rest of the world."

Orion grunted as he returned his attention to the console. Jazz was one of his very few visitors and friends that came to see him.

"I have more than enough of it here." Jazz followed his gaze to the different monitors, each sporting some historical file. "You weren't even created then Jazz, but I was and remember Cybertron as a peaceful planet – I need to remind myself for what we are fighting for."

Jazz frowned, "Yeah, but Ah told ya – it's not good to live in the past or ya won't be able to see the future." As those words left his vocalizer, red optics flared on his HUD to stare once again expressionlessly, only no voice followed. Primus, did Jazz hate their emptiness.

"Do you need something, Jazz?"

"As a matter of fact, yeah Ah do." He answered, "Ah need all of the volumes of Netters Code Breaker and every protocol of hack manipulation ya can find."

Orion stopped what he was doing to turn and look at his friend, "Why?" He couldn't help but ask, "These are some serious pieces of literature you're asking for. You'll be in for a lot of headaches. And besides, you always told me that for you, programming is '_winging it._'"

Jazz gave another grin, only this one looked strained, "Yeah, but Ah need something more than natural talent." He was very good at what he did – the main reason for Nightbeat to take him in Ops. Jazz didn't possess the patience to read and study, yet somehow, writing code was like walking for him. But now he needed to up the ante.

"Nightbeat asked you to do this?"

"Nope. But Ah really need it. Ah'm not even supposed to be here." He stared back at the red optics. The AI was very good at coding – well, Jazz would simply need to get _better_. "So, do ya have them?"

"Yes." Orion answered, "This is some hardcore programming you'll have to learn about."

"Well, it's not like Ah have anything better ta do." Jazz answered bitterly.

Now Orion looked slightly concerned, knowing who Jazz was referring to. "Ignore them. You know they are simply looking for something to pass their free time with."

"Oh yeah, so hating meh is practically a sport then. Ah feel all better now."

"Jazz…"

"Whatever." Jazz looked away, "Now at least I know who my real friends are."

"I'll go get you the files you requested." Orion said quietly and left the console to search for them.

_You will not be able to understand those codes. Not without help._

"Wanna bet? Ah can be pretty determined when Ah want to."

_I know what you are trying to do. Even if you further your knowledge about coding, are you willing to risk delving that deep in your own, where one mistake could kill you?_

"What happened to 'make sure Ah survived'?" Jazz snorted, "Or do ya simply like prowlin' my mind?"

_I will make sure nothing of the sort happens. As for your mind – it is very organized, in its own chaotic way. And I'm not prowling, simply monitoring your systems – I am nowhere near you memories and private files._

"You better not be." Jazz muttered, "Well, that must be very boring. The world's best hacking AI ever created, reduced to monitor duty. Shame."

"Who are you talking to?" Orion came back just at the red optics disappeared from Jazz HUD.

"Comms." Jazz answered simply and accepted the files, "Thanks mech, Ah owe ya one."

"It's no problem." Orion crossed his arms, "Well, I guess pleasant reading."

"Ah wish." Jazz said making his friend smirk.

"If you need someplace quiet to study or simply get away, you're always welcomed here."

"Thank ya." Jazz subspaced the files and gave Orion's arm a squeeze, "But do meh one last favor? If ya see me acting… strange or weird or some other way that's uncharacteristic for me…" Jazz's voice trailed off. What the Pit was he supposed to say without sounding insane or like a traitor? "Just, trust no one."

The stretching silence was painful until the military librarian nodded slowly, "Whatever mess you've gotten yourself into, Jazz, it's never too late to ask for help."

Jazz forced a smile, "Mess? Me?"

Orion went to his console, "Just watch your back."

"Always am."

* * *

"Ohhh, now that's gonna leave a mark." Jazz winced as Bumblebee was knocked out of the ring. He hurried over to the yellow 'bot to help him up. "Ya okay, buddy?"

Bumblebee swayed and shook his head, "Yeah, Jazz. Never better." Both looked up at the smirking Mirage, "I just wanted to wipe that smirk off his face."

"You and meh both." Jazz muttered, glaring at the mech looking down on them. "Think ya need to see Ratch'?"

"No, just a couple of dents – I'll be fine." He smiled at the silver mech, "I hope you have more luck then me – you've improved since the last training session."

"It was before Ah went on mah last mission, so we'll see." Jazz gave a shrug.

"Rumor has it that you got over a 100 viruses." Bumblebee looked him over, "And that was two orns ago – you look better than one would expect."

"Yeah, well…." Jazz stared passed the red optics, just as Blaster stepped on the ring.

_You are pushing it._ The voice said calmly. _Your systems need to rest._

Jazz said nothing as his attention shifted to Blaster and Mirage. The fact that he still hasn't powered down was ignored. The goal was for the recruits to push Mirage out of the ring. So far, no one was successful.

Nightbeat gave the signal to start. Blaster didn't even have the time to see the attack coming.

"He's really good." Bumblebee muttered.

"He was Nightbeat's pupil, what do you expect?" Jazz said, following the movements.

"So are you." The yellow mech added.

"For barely a vorn or so – it doesn't even count." Jazz explained, "Blaster's good too – really good actually. But not in close combat." He shook his head as his friend took another hit, "_Definitely_ not in close combat. But when he's in the airwaves… no one should underestimate him."

"Mirage certainly is." Bumblebee stated grimly and just as those words left his vocalizer Blaster was kicked out of the ring, right at the two of them. They were able to catch him and the three of them tumbled to the ground in a mess of limbs.

"Well," Blaster winced, "This is certainly embarrassing, mechs."

"Don't mind him pall." Jazz said as he crawled from under the two mechs. "We all know yer very good at what ya do."

"Yeah," Bumblebee added, "He just likes the attention."

As if on cue, the three mechs looked up at Mirage, who was smiling at them mockingly.

"How do you put up with him?" Blaster looked at Jazz who shrugged in response.

"It takes a lot for something to irk me up, but he's certainly managing it." Jazz explained about Mirage, who as luck would have it, was his roommate, "Plus, our schedules are very different – he's mostly on missions and when he's back Ah'm on one."

"Jazz." Nightbeat motioned for him to get on the sparring ring.

"Good luck." The yellow scout said.

"Just watch out for those kicks. Mech liked to kick a lot…" Blaster trailed off, expecting his new dents.

"Got it."

The silver mech went up the platform. Mirage simply stood there, arms crossed.

"Jazz. It's been a while."

_I highly recommend you do not go through with this._

"Yeah, it has." Jazz answered neutrally, ignoring the AI.

"I hope you prove to be more of a challenge than the last one." Mirage looked down at Blaster. "Pathetic."

"Keep yer vocalizer mute – it makes my audios hurt." Jazz glared hard, an unspoken threat. No one insulted his friends.

"Yes. I could say the same thing about that horrible accent of yours – do try and speak more civilized, please."

"Do try and get over yourself. Oh, right, ya can't. Poor you." Jazz said icily, "Just remember, that every time you radio for extraction in the middle of a Decepticon base, it's because of that 'pathetic' mech over there that the signal is getting transmitted unnoticed to us, and thus, saving your ungrateful aft. So yeah, go ahead, mock him. See if Ah care when the signal fails the next time."

Suddenly, red optics flared on his HUD.

_Be silent! Do you want to get accused for treason?_

"Jazz, that's enough." Nightbeat admonished harshly, making Mirage smirk. He looked between both mechs one last time and gave the signal to start.

Jazz was prepared.

He was quick to dodge the immediate attack. His movements fluid and graceful – it looked more like dancing then dodging.

"You're natural at this." Mirage stated, just as Jazz jumped away. "But talent is _nothing_ against hard work."

_Defend your sides._

Too late. As he was in the middle of a jump, Jazz got hit, and went tumbling on the ground; luckily, he was still in the ring.

_Get up. Now, before-_

A foot stepped on his back, crushing him down. With his peripheral vision, Jazz could see Blaster and 'Bee getting ready to intervene.

"Mirage." Nightbeat warned.

_Twist. Kick. Double jump and hit him at the muddle of his chest. His disruptor is there - it's his weakest point._

Jazz ignored it, his hands pressing hard on the ground as he felt the metal on his back starting to buckle.

_Do it. Now._

Still, Jazz did nothing. The armor on his chest was deforming and his engine was protesting the strain. If Nightbeat intervened that would mean Mirage wins – there would be no living with him after this. Jazz had too much of a fight in him to give up like that.

_Jazz!_

His visor flared. In a swift twist, he was holding Mirage's foot. He kicked it hard in the joint, causing the blue mech to growl in pain. In a fast double jump, Jazz kicked him in the chest, directly in his disruptor, sending Mirage crashing to the ground, but still in the ring.

The room was silent. Mirage was a senior agent. He was good. One of the best, if not,_ the best_. No rookie has ever been able to lay a hit on him. No one but Jazz, till now.

"What did you expect? He is Nightbeat's pupil as well." Jazz heard someone from the crowd say.

_Focus!_

He had no time to muse on that, as Mirage was suddenly in his face, sending hits that Jazz was having a difficult time dodging – the fact that he was exhausted and Mirage was _good_, didn't help matters and it wasn't long before Jazz got ruthlessly kicked out of the ring, landing heavily on his face.

"Ouch…" He muttered, his entire body protesting.

"Jazz!" Bumblebee and Blaster ran over to him, "Are you alright?" They got a grunt as a response.

"Yer right." Jazz winced as he tried to sit up, "Bastard kicks hard."

"Minus the beginning, that was good." Nightbeat said as he came, looking Jazz over, "How are you?"

"Ah'm fine, but ya call this _good_?" The silver mech leaned heavily on Blaster, "He wiped the floor with meh!"

Nightbeat gave one of his trademark secretive smirks, dark armor glinting. He nodded at them, turning to the ring for the next mech that would face Mirage.

"Ohhh, he looks pissed." Bumblebee grinned at Mirage's dark scow.

"Ya think?" Blaster laughed as he helped his friend out of the room.

_Next time you'll be prepared. I've analyzed his fighting style – I won't let this happen again. _

Jazz tiredly stared at the red optics, too worn out to response. He had enough fighting for the last couple of orns, both mental and physical.

_How are you?_

"You alright there, Jazz?" Bumblebee asked, "You seem awfully quiet."

"Fine 'Bee," Jazz smiled, "Though my pride feels quite bruised right about now."

"Bruised?" Blaster grinned as they neared the med bay, "Did you see the look on Mirage's face? You should be celebrating!"

The three were still laughing when a group of mechs passed them, whispering to themselves openly about the visored mech.

"Didn't they teach ya that starin' is rude? Sheesh." Jazz glared at them, hearing his name in their whispers.

_I'm sensing a lot of hostility._

He grunted, just as Blaster and Bee returned the glares being sent the silver mech's way. Suddenly, the med bay doors burst open as Softbite emerged, glaring at them all, Ratchet safely peaking from inside the room.

"What the frag's going on here?" The CMO grumbled, "Is this a picnic or what? Move along, all of ya."

One of the mechs huffed, "Let's go mechs, no use in wasting our time here with traitors."

"Hey!-"

"Leave 'em be, Blaster." Jazz glared at their retreating backs, "They're still grieving."

"One thing is grieving, this is insult." Bumblebee added.

"Ah'm no mood to deal with this – _ouch_!" Jazz glared at Softbite. "Damn it, old mech! Stop harassing me!" And rubbed the place where he got pinched.

"The three of you – get in the med bay, now." He pointed at the open doors, as Ratchet scrambled to get supplies.

It was a deep within the off cycle when Jazz tiredly climbed to his berth, dent free. Mirage was nowhere in sight, which suited Jazz perfectly – he was in no mood to deal with him. It had taken Ratchet joors to fix him because his visor got cracked, something that needed a lot of precision while fixing the crystal glass.

"Primus…Ah'm so exhausted." Jazz off lined his visor, not wanting to stare at the red optics.

_Rest. I'll watch over you._

Jazz gave a snort at how absurd that sounded, "Don't ya sleep too?"

_No. My energy depends entirely on you – as long as your frame is functioning, so am I._

"Hmm…" Jazz felt his systems starting to blissfully shut down, "Thanks… for helpin' meh out there."

_Think nothing of it. _

"Prowler…"

_Excuse me?_

"Ah'm gonna call ya Prowler, till I find a way to get rid of ya." Jazz shifted on his side.

_I have a designation._

"A _number_ is not a designation. And since ya decided to vacate my CPU without so much as asking my permission, Ah get to call ya whatever the frag Ah want. Yer constantly prowlin' my mind – therefore, Prowler. Now shut up, Ah wanna rest."

_Your logic is strange._

"Pfft, ya haven't seen half of it." Jazz muttered, "Though, Ah have a request."

_It can wait. You need to recharge._

"Ah need ya to speak differently."

_You obviously need to rest – that doesn't even make sense._

"There, don't speak so monotone like – makes my audios hurt."

_Do you want me to lower my volume? Is this better?_

Jazz moaned when the AI completely misinterpret his words and lowered its volume, "Ah'll explain in the mornin'. Try anythin' funny and-"

_You'll rip your very own spark out. Yes, I remember._

"Annoying Prowler…" Jazz groggily stated as his body finally slipped in the much needed recharge, as red optics watched the mech rest.

…

….

…..

_Wake up. Now!_

Suddenly, Jazz felt all of his systems power up without his permission. It was an …uncomfortable feeling, to say the least, and he was about yell at the AI for accessing his systems like that, but his visor flared and he was graced to see Mirage, looming over him, a glare in his optics.

"What the slag, Mirage?" He slurred, "Get the frag away from meh."

Mirage said and did nothing, just kept starring at him as if seeing something else entirely. Then, in the quiet of the night, he spoke, voice cold and low.

"How did you discover me?"

"What?" Jazz tried to stand up but a hand found its way around his throat. Red optics flared even brighter on his HUD as he felt battle protocols starting up without his permission.

"Right now, how did you notice me standing over you?"

"You _sick frag_, Ah'll rip your face off!" Jazz clawed at the hand tightening around him.

"Answer me."

"It got awfully stuffy in here, your ego takin' all the space, that's how." Jazz growled, "Now let meh go!"

"And today in training…"

"Is this about _that_?!" Jazz asked, engine revving, "Ah'll say it again – Get. Over. Yourself!"

Finally, Mirage's features changed as anger shone in his optics.

"You ungrateful little piece of _trash_." He ignored how Jazz was pealing his paint right off with his claws. "I _detest_ mechs like you. Detest them!" He growled, "Mechs who get everything served to them on a golden platter. Do you know how much work I've put into my training, so I can get good and be noticed by Nightbeat, taken as his student? Well, do you?!"

"Let meh go!"

"I had to train my aft off for joors with not so much as a simple break and that's how I got so good – why Nightbeat decided to train me. But _you_? You're an ungrateful slob, who cares for no one but himself. What our mentor sees in you…" He off lined his optics, trying to calm down, "You barely train, yet you're _still_ able to dodge my blows, you don't practice programming, yet you are able to create programs that could match mine! You don't deserve his respect, to be on our team. And the entire army knows that what happened is your fault!"

Jazz roared from beneath him, trashing, cursing and clawing. The mech had _no right_ to bring that up!

_Attack him. Attack him before he does more damage, or I will._

"_SHUT UP!"_ Jazz boomed, whether he screamed at the AI or Mirage left unknown. "Ya jealous? That in time I'll get a lot better than ya? That ya won't be the best? Teacher's little pet? Ya really _are_ sick."

Mirage's engine gave a dangerous rumble and he raised his fist to hit Jazz. The visored mech braced himself but something else entirely happened. His clawed hand was piercing Mirage's chest, holding the disruptor and ready to rip it out, inches before his spark.

"You really think you are wanted here?" Mirage slowly released the grip on Jazz's throat, waiting the same to be done for his disruptor. "You think those mechs you call _friends_ trust you? They fear you, you fool! And soon, fear will morph into dislike, then it will turn into detest and finally – hate. I have nothing to be jealous of. Nothing. And how you keep repeating that the shadows are your family – that's something I agree with you. Because soon, they'll be the only place for you to go."

It took all of Jazz will power not to rip the disruptor out. His claws slightly relaxed, giving Mirage the signal to pull away. The silver mech rubbed his neck as Mirage slowly backed away to the door, their gazes following each movement. And just like that, Mirage was out the door, living Jazz alone in the silence and shadows.

His frame started to tremble, little tremors growing stronger and stronger, until every bit of him was shaking in revulsion. His optics noticed his clawed hand, the one that was moments away from ripping Mirage apart, energon dripping from it. It was all Jazz could take as he bent over the berth and purged what was left in his thanks.

_Jazz-_

His engine hiccuped as the shaking never stopped. He stood up on unstable legs and headed towards the door. His body moved in a trance, something inside him ripping apart, as ghosts from the past haunted his mind, those red optics never fading.

_Where are you going? Jazz, stop._

But he went on in a desperate stride to run away, but from what, yet unknown. The automatic doors opened and he stumbled within. A utility closet. Jazz didn't care as he crumbled to the ground, his body not stopping its tremors.

_Calm down, just breathe. _

The optics burned on his HUD and Jazz off lined his optics, not wanting to look at them. His vents wheezed and engine misfired. Primus, he wanted nothing more than to curl up and die here.

"Just shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. _SHUT UP_!" He swallowed and glared at the optics, "Never, _never_ do that again." He could still feel Mirage's armor around his claws. "Do you hear me? Ah swear to Primus… _never_ do it again – what part of this is my fraggin' body didn't you understand?!" Energon was still staining his hand, making Jazz sick.

He cried as more tremors shook his body. Jazz rested his head back with audible clang, his mouth open trying to suck in as much as cool air he could get. "Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn…" He stared at the door, the soft glow from his visor casting heavy shadows in the dim closet. "It wasn't my fault." He breathed, dark memories clouding his mind, "It wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't…. it wasn't my fault they died."

_Do you wish to forget? Whatever is tormenting you?_

That question made Jazz's visor flare. The idea sounded so temping, to simply forget. If it could only be this simple.

_I can delete the memories. You'll fall into recharge and when you wake, it'll all be gone._

It was then that Jazz realized the AI was trying to comfort him, in its own crude way. An apology. A _program_ was apologizing to him. Wonderful.

"No," Jazz whispered, his spark calming down, "No, Ah don't. Forgettin' pain is convenient, true. Remembering it – _agonizing_." He winced, "But it's worth it, recovering the truth; knowing is always better than not knowing for meh."

The red optics stared impassively and Jazz could only guess what the program was thinking. He knew the AI wasn't too prone of the philosophical, yet so much knowledge was hidden behind it.

_Too much pain brings hatred. Releasing hatred brings guilt. And guilt brings simply more pain in a never ending cycle. Do you not wish for it to stop?_

Jazz hummed, his posture slumped as he contemplated on his answer, "Yeah, but… isn't it by understanding pain that one can understand kindness and return that kindness back?"

_That sounds-_

"Crazy?" Jazz gave a tired smirk, "Yeah, it does sound like that. I've been called insane too many times to count. But Ah believe that the world we live in is also insane – Ah mean, _c'mon_! We're in the middle of a fraggin' war, my friends getting killed left and right, and Ah'm hiding in a utility closet, talking to an enemy program. So yeah, the world and its mecha are, very much, crazy. Then, doesn't my insanity make me normal?" Jazz rubbed his face, exhausted. "Think about that, Prowler."

* * *

**TBC**


	3. Power for the Powerless

**Beta: **_Gracesolo_**  
**

**Title:** Always with protection**  
Author:** pjlover666**  
Pairing:** Prowl/Jazz in the later chapters.**  
Universe:** Bayverse, AU**  
Rating:** PG13, but it might go up.**  
Warnings:** Violence.**  
Word count:** ~ 6, 000**  
Summary:** Jazz should always use protection when trying to hack the enemy. The consequences are not exactly pleasant.**  
Author Notes:** Lots of interactions between Jazz and the AI. Let the mind games begin. And this is just the beginning.**  
Disclaimer:** Transformers doesn't belong to me.

* * *

Chapter Three: Power for the Powerless.

* * *

His joints protested as Jazz gripped with all of his might the blade in his hands. No, he couldn't back down, he couldn't stop. They were all watching, staring at him, their gazes burning through his armor.

In a swift move, Jazz backed away before his opponent could strike again. He and Counterstrike started circling around each other, both the predator and the pray.

_Let me help you._

Jazz grunted, and as if that was a sign, Counterstrike attacked again.

Dodge, dodge, kick, strike, jump away. It was a dance that Jazz knew well and his only goal was to better himself at it. With his peripheral vision he saw all of the new recruits for Ops. Blaster and Bee were quietly talking to each other but their gazes were on Jazz. Even Orion was out of his 'hide out' and was observing the training session.

Jazz hissed as one of his audio horns got nicked. His opponent was going straight for his weak spot, the slagger. The visored mech was good at close combat, but his personal favorite were the short twin blades – they were light, compact and barely made any noise at all.

_Jazz_.

The AI insisted after it removed the warning message from Jazz's HUD, due to the small leakage from his left audio horn. The program was ignored in favor of dodging another blow. Their movements were quiet – after all, that was the goal of this exercise, to take down your opponent as soundlessly as possible; the reason for everyone to whisper.

But Jazz could still hear them, talking poisons.

"What a waste." He heard someone mutter. He shouldn't have gotten distracted like that, but he did. His head wiped the other way, searching whoever said it. They should say it to his face, not cower like this.

_Jazz, focus!_

He paid for his rookie mistake. With a ferocious kick he was sent flying with such a force, that the wall he collided with cracked.

"…frag." Jazz muttered as he pealed himself from the ground, only to have a weigh pressed on his back, with a blade on his throat.

"Yield." Said Counterstrike.

A low grow came from Jazz's engine as his body tried to stand.

_Surrender. There is below 0,0001% chance of victory._

"Shut up!" Jazz yelled at the AI though his opponent didn't know that. The blade was pressed harder.

"_Yield_, Jazz."

The visored mech could see his mentor, arms crossed watching his failure. Again. Damn it. With a snarl Jazz smashed his fists on the ground one last time and his body slumped in resignation. The blade was removed and he let his head fall to the ground with an audible clank, fits clenching.

When he lifted his head up, Jazz saw many of the optics staring down at him. He saw the looks full of disgust from many of the mecha in the room. He saw Orion's worried gaze and Blaster and Bee's pity for him. Nightbeat's disappointment and Mirage's triumph at witnessing his failure. But most of all, he saw the empty red optics of the Decepticon AI program lodged in him.

They were the only ones that didn't judge.

* * *

The rec room was a burst of activity as per usual during this time of the cycle. A while back, this was Jazz's favorite time of the orn. Now though, he loathed every astro second spent here. It was both fascinating and disturbing how fast things changed during war – how he, himself changed. To have your optics opened was like a hard slap in the face.

_When I suggested for you to refuel, I didn't mean high-grade._

"Zip it, nanny-bot." Jazz said and used the cube to hide his lips. The program could be really annoying when it wanted to be. A smile was forced when he saw the approaching form of Bumblebee.

"Jazz! I'm so glad I was able to catch you before I left."

Jazz did feel a little bad for the yellow bot. If he could have helped it, he wouldn't have set one foot in this room, but his energy levels after that, humiliating might he add, sparring session were too low to be ignored. Not when there was a foreign AI in his head, constantly telling him to refuel. Annoying thing, really.

"Of course, buddy. This is yer first solo mission. Shouldn't ya be restin' fer it?"

The scout laughed nervously, "Nahh, to jittery to properly shut down."

Jazz clasped his hand on the minibot's arm, "You'll do great, Ah'm certain."

Bumblebee grinned, "I hope so, too." Though he sobered up a little, "But what happened today at training? You were there….but at the same time, you weren't."

Jazz's smile evaporated. It was kind of hard to concentrate during training when the entire room was scrutinizing him like that, anticipating a mistake on his part.

Like dealing with all problems, he gave a shrug, "Dunno, Ah was kind of tired."

Bumblebee, noticing that his friend wanted to change the subject, was quick to oblige. "So I hear that the Prime will visit the base soon."

"Oh yeah, that should be something worth seeing," Jazz grinned but there was no mirth in it, "At least he'll remind the army that he exists."

_Careful what you speak of. You never know who is listening. _The red optics scolded. The spy was treading a thin line here, filled with unnecessary risks.

"Jazz…" Now Bumblebee frowned. "You're more… bitter than usual." It was no secret that he had changed after that disaster of a mission awhile back, but it was becoming clear how that was affecting him now.

"What? Just speakin' mah mind here." Jazz said, accent thickening "There are so many soldiers in this army that go inta battle, to their deaths, an' have never even seen a glimpse of their Prime – only on the fraggin' news broadcasts."

The scout glared, "He can't be everywhere, you know that. He's _the Prime_!"

_How naïve._

For the first time, Jazz couldn't agree more.

"Yeah, and we're _nothin'_, right? Ah mean, compared to him…"

"Stop it." Bumblebee hissed, "Okay, I get it – you're still pissed about today but get yourself into gear Jazz. Get a fragging grip and watch what you're saying."

"A grip? _Grip_?" From the relaxed position Jazz leaned forward, close to the yellow bot, "Ah'm one of the few bots in this army that has a _solid grip_ on reality. Don't ya dare talk to me about responsibilities."

"Then get your processor out of you aft and start using it."

Finally, boldness. Bumblebee should be like this more often. Jazz took a drink from his cube, the program in his mind very quiet, "Mech, I can't wage two wars. Ah can't fight against the stupid 'cons when I'm fighting battle's here in mah own faction."

"Well, you aren't making thing any easier, either." Bumblebee scowled, "Speak up. They only act this way because you let them."

Jazz's hold on the cube tightened. If he ever did that… he wasn't so much worried what they would do to him, but rather, what _he_ would do if he simply caved in and really made them all shut the frag up once and for all.

He looked passed 'Bee, many of the soldiers whispering. He didn't need his sensitive hearing to know what they were talking about.

"What th'frag are ya lookin' at?" With a glare, he raised his voice, obviously not speaking to the scout, who turned and narrowed his optics. With a shake of his head, he turned to look back at the visored mech.

"Jazz." Bumblebee placed his hand on the cube in Jazz's grip, stopping him from drinking some more, "I have too much on my mind to worry for you, too. Especially now, when I have to leave for a mission."

"It's…fine, Bee." Jazz dimmed his visor, "Ah'm just not in a good place. Haven't been in a while."

Bumblebee squeezed his shoulder, "Happens to the best of us, buddy." He tried to smile, "I better go now." With a nod, Bumblebee stood.

"Yeah, careful out there."

After the scout was out of the room, Jazz gulped the remains of his high grade, then spoke in a low voice, making sure no one saw him.

"Ah need all of my changes back. Now."

_No._

The empty cube he was holding cracked, "That's not up fer a debate. We're _not_ a democracy."

_Of course not._

"Then give me fraggin' access." He growled out.

_No. It's too detrimental to your systems._

Jazz tried not to sputter. Oh, how he wished to strangle something, "Ya know what's detrimental? Getting mah aft handed to meh during sparring."

_You were sloppy this orn. _

"Gee, Ah wonder why."

_You need to understand, that the same results can be achieved without the need to change your health settings._

"And how's that?" He snorted.

_One of two ways. One, you train until the same results are achieved. Or two, you let me help._

Jazz liked neither of these options. The first one required too much time, he wasn't that patient. He could do it if he set his mind to it, but it strongly reminded him of Mirage. His systems growled at that.

The second idea… was tempting. After all, this wasn't some ordinary AI that kept everything organized in one's mind. It was specifically created _for_ battle.

"Just... return my slaggin' protocols, AI."

Jazz winced when he saw some of the other mechs watching him curiously. They probably saw him talking. Hopefully they'll think it's the comm. lines. It wasn't unusual for him to talk with Blaster most of the time on them.

With a shake of his head, he stood and deposited the cracked cube into the recycling bin, leaving the hostile environment. He couldn't stop the relieved sigh that escaped him.

"Ah hate it, being judged like that by them all of the time. _Hate_ it." The halls were empty. He couldn't wait to reach his quarters.

_Why does it matter so much to you? Their opinion is worthless; it has no meaning._

The words were oddly comforting.

"But words still hurt." Jazz hated admitting that. He truly was weak if he let such petty things to affect him like this.

_Only if you let them hurt. This is psychology, Jazz. It is war, but not with fists. And you are letting them crush you_.

Jazz paused for a moment, "They?" He asked. Was the AI referring to the Decepticons… or the Autobots? Shaking his head in dismissal, he answered, "That's rich, coming from the AI that can't feel nothin'."

_I prefer it this way – no emotions to hinder me. The words don't hurt, they do not matter._

"Then Prowler, my unwanted companion, that's a cold, _cold_ world yer living in."

_It is efficient._

"Still…" Jazz was meaning to ask him this since the training session, "You have direct access to my systems. Why didn't you simply take over control when Ah defied you?"

_It's not as simple as it seems. I can easily take control away – keeping it. That's the difficult part._

"It is?" Jazz asked surprised.

_Yes. It would be an illogical waste of energy to keep your mind locked at bay. Not to mention, the increase in risk of you going to a medic if I overstep my boundaries, and confessing your condition, is too high for me to ignore. _

"Never knew ya valued my opinion that much." Jazz said, "And that's why words do matter, even if they bring pain."

_But the difference is that you let the pain consume you. Pain is an asset; you can use it for your benefit – fuel – or a tool. _

"That sounds lonely." Jazz felt like a child, losing a fight with his creator.

_Impossible. I'm sharing your CPU._

Jazz couldn't help but smirk at that, "Ahh, but here's where yer wrong. Yer not '_sharing'_, yer intruding."

_Still. There is another presence here. I am not lonely._

Jazz sighed. "Ya know, the rec room is filled with mechs during the off hours, and back then, when I used to hog all of the attention, no matter how many optics where on meh, Ah still felt alone in that room."

_That doesn't make any sense._

"Not to ya it don't."

_Still, you care far too much for their opinion of you. Very …childish._

It was the truth. But he couldn't help what he felt. He truly was being childish.

"…So, any ideas how not to be?"

_Remove a large percentage of your emotions capacities._

Always so literal. The spy snorted, "And become like you? Frag no."

_There is no other way._

Jazz looked down at his pedes, "…Ah won't be always like this. Ah know it. One orn Ah'll wake up from recharge and simply won't care, Ah'll be so numb. But do Ah really want that?"

_Yes._

Frustrated, Jazz growled, "Of course. Because yer world is so much fun."

_Don't be e hypocrite. I am linked to you. I can feel it. The darkness inside you. How it grows and the fact that you like it. That scares you - that you feel such dark emotions towards your own comrades._

Jazz felt his vents stop. For a moment, it was just him and the program starring at each other, and he felt like he was suffocating. But like all things hurtful in this world, he shrugged this one off as well.

"What was Shockwave thinking, installing the psych program inta ya?" Jazz entered the code for the door.

_To increase my efficiency by 43%._

"Too literal, mech." Jazz went straight for the berth, "Too fragging literal."

_Everybot's got a dark side, Jazz. It is completely natural._

Jazz turned on his side, "Shut up." He offlined his optics, not wanting to stare at the red ones, "Ah wanna recharge."

Thankfully, the AI obliged.

* * *

Ice.

It was all around, over and inside of him. Ice so cold it actually burned. The world was frozen. He couldn't breathe and fists clenched as pain consumed him. Oh, how the pain was relished, desired – _deserved_.

As Jazz opened his mouth to try and suck in more of the freezing air his optics drifted towards the dancing sparks around him. Their blue shimmer was the only color in this white world of nothingness.

The burning never stopped and he realized that it was coming from his spark, as it literally tried to burst out of his chest. Whispers caressed his audios, as each spark had something to say. He lifted a clawed hand, so cold it might as well belong to a dead mech, and stretched it towards the closest of the sparks, watching it dance around a digit.

The whispers grew louder, and it was each chant, not the cold, that caused him to shiver.

It was fun, Jazz.

Thank you, Jazz.

You're such a silly mech, Jazz.

Don't stop smiling, Jazz.

Your spark is pure, Jazz.

I know a good friend when see one, Jazz.

Don't give up, Jazz.

You're a good mech, Jazz.

We trust you, Jazz.

Live for us, Jazz.

He felt his systems choke, optics cycling as his hand closed around the shimmering light, dissipating it, making the other sparks vanish as well. Jazz felt something drip on his armor, something warm and thick. A few drops at first, then it slowly grow stronger; the splashing sound of liquid on metal grew louder in this deafening silence.

Suddenly, he cycled his optics on, only to watch the world around him melt. But the burning never stopped, as now, instead of burning ice there were flames of war.

Jazz stood frozen in the middle of a battle, as mechs killed each other left and right, death lingering in their shadows. The explosions surged and all the whiteness was replaced with bright red and orange colors, as the planet he was fighting for, literally bled to death beneath his feet. A chilling voice cooled the world around him.

_Such a pity._

He canted his helm to the side, the numbness overtaking him, as Jazz took the scenes before him with morbid fascination. They were fighting for a planet that was dying before their very optics, as it was their own hand that caused its destruction.

_Such a pity, to waste everything for this; for them._

Living shouldn't be this hard, this painful. He was barely four hundred vorns old and the war has sucked all of the life out of him. Death is supposed to be simple. Oh, how alluring that sounded.

Jazz heard something shatter and looked up at the sky that no longer held stars, only to see a huge spider web crack on it, little bits and pieces of it crumbling. The sound of breaking glass happened again, only this time he felt the ground under him waver, and the next thing he knew, Jazz was falling into the dark void, broken shards glinting all around him. He couldn't help but welcome the darkness.

.

.

.

Jazz gasped as he literally fell into consciousness. Hid vents wheezed, while looking around the room. It was still dark and thankfully there was no sight of Mirage. It was dark – Cybertron was far from any star so no light came from the small window and anything electronically in the small space was turned off. Only Jazz's dim visor was a small source of light.

_Interesting._

The spy glared at the optics that flared on his HUD. "What?" He slurred, voice still recalibrating after the abrupt awakening.

_Your memory purges._

"Yeah, wha' about them?" Jazz rubbed his face, until realization came, "Wait, you were _watchin_?" He hissed, "Frag, mech. Now that's just plain weird. Ya don't go and watch another mech's memory purges!"

_Yours don't qualify as such._

"Prowler, use words. Ah don't want to decipher everything ya say." Why was he even surprised? The program had no concept of personal boundaries. The least it could do was not speak in riddles.

_When someone is emotionally disturbed or unstable, they have memory purges of the file/event that causes them this. While yours, on the other hand, qualifies as 'dreams'._

Jazz sat on the berth, letting his legs fall to the side. The spy felt so tired, but he wasn't too keen to fall back into recharge again. "So? Ah've had them fer a while now."

_They occur in mechs that have either extremely high mental capabilities or are under enormous emotional strain._

He probably fit both categories. The spy groaned, "The point to this, doctor P?"

_It means that the information about your missions that you carry, is not secured correctly_.

"You stupid?" Jazz asked annoyed, "Ah may be a rookie, but even ya had trouble hacking mah firewalls."

_True._ Replied the cold voice. _But this isn't hidden behind firewalls. It is part of your sub consciousness._

"If this is yer idea for small talk, it sucks." Jazz said nonchalantly. He glared at Mirage's berth. Primus, when was the last time he made small talk with someone besides Bee and Blaster? And even that was getting scarcer due to the different shifts and missions. And he didn't even count the time spent with Orion. Mech's got a good spark, Jazz'll give him credit, but he had to literally pull the words out of the historian's mouth.

"Ah'm not… used to people hating me." He blurted, surprising himself. Since when did it feel so good to talk?

_Again, you care far too much about their opinion._ The program replied calmly.

"They are mah friends-"

_Are they, Jazz? Really? I am a program free of all emotion and still see the way they treat you._

The spy sneered, "Stop it. You know nothin'. It was mah fault and they have the right to act this way."

_I know the definition of 'friends'. Something bizarre and useless. It is completely unnecessary._

Jazz stood up, "Just shut up. You've never experienced it. How can ya possibly know?"

_I see it through your optics. It hinders you. Causes you pain and suffering. It is nothing but a nuisance._

"Yer the nuisance, ya stupid slag of a program." Jazz clenched his fits, "Ah never wanted ya."

_Why are you defending them?_

"Because Ah can't simply disregard such a large portion of mah life! So many smiles and laughs and memories – _good memories_ – ta simply let this be." Why was he trying so hard? More importantly, who was he trying to convince? "Ah can't simply walk pass these 'bots in the hallways like they don't matter – because they do."

_Then you are a bigger fool then I thought._ The voice sounded even colder. _Those mechs would leave you behind without any hesitation. They do not care and neither should you._

"Ah may no longer be their friend but they still matter to meh."

_Why? Give me one logical reason, of why?_

"Ah don't… Ah don't know." Jazz felt his limbs slump as he locked optics in resignation with the program. "Ah just don't… want to be alone."

_You are not alone._

The words boomed in his mind and Jazz couldn't help but recycle his optics. He growled – damn program was being, again, far too literal. They shared a body and nothing else. Heck, not even the word 'share' applied here.

Jazz sighed, "Yeah. Sure, whatever."

_If you don't like it here, why not just quit?_

"Now that is an insult." The spy rose one of his optic ridges behind his visor, "Ah want ta help fight this war, Ah want to become one of the best of Ops."

_Because you like fighting._

Jazz gritted his denta. That wasn't a question. "Ah just want to help mecha. That means Ah need to be good at what Ah do."

_So far, you are not convincing anyone._

That, Jazz didn't expect. Suddenly anger flared and he hissed, "Ah'm stronger than ya give me credit for – more than most give meh credit for. And in time, Ah'll get better."

_Are you sure? What if another young and talented Ops recruit shows up. Will you turn into Mirage?_

"Frag off." He sneered, "Ah'll never turn like that egotistical, self-absorbed fool. I am strong."

_You don't seem very convinced._ Jazz didn't notice the slight narrow of the red optics.

"Ah am strong. And if there's someone more powerful than me, then Ah'll simply gain more power."

_And how will you achieve that? How, when you can't even acknowledge the simplest of things, that you are alone in this army._

"By any means necessary, ya dumb program." Darkness crept in Jazz's voice, "If someone dares to defy me."

The optics were, like usual, cold and calculating. No emotion showing whatsoever. They stayed like that, scrutinizing Jazz for a long time, until the voice started again.

_Do you know the most powerful weapon someone like you could posses?_

Whatever Jazz was expecting, this was not it. He lost the grasp of his thought and just stared at the optics in confusion.

_Knowledge._ The program said. _Imagine all of the possibilities a mech like you could have, possessing powerful information. That is the greatest strength someone can achieve – something that outweighs the strongest of weapons._

"I _am_ a spy." Jazz said, as the fog in his processor starting to clear, understanding.

_Yes. Why do you think they, you, are so feared?_

Jazz made a fist, the metal creaking. Damn them. Damn them all – the Decepticons, the Autobots, everyone. Their stupid race that knew nothing but violence and power and corruption.

_You can feel it as well. This anger and fury. The lust for power that is carved since the very first stages of creation._

The spy made a growing sound, hating every word said in his head. Hating the truth ringing in them.

"Again," Jazz started, accent so deep he might as well be speaking pure Polihexian dialect, "_What's yer fraggin' point_?"

_Anger is a powerful fuel and tool, Jazz._

The spy stayed silent. All of this talk was giving him a headache. Damn program, speaking nonsense. But… it was the truth. And the truth hurt. Was that why they felt anger? Because pain always led to anger and hatred, that led to guilt, which only led to more pain? Just like the AI said that one time. Primus, did he want this thing out of his head. Yet…

"Tool, ya say…" Jazz trailed off. Did he really want that? Oh, but the longing in his spark was so strong that he couldn't help but ask, "And how can one learn yield it?"

The optics of the program remained cold, passive and most of all empty, as they kept on looking at Jazz, seeing something only they could see.

* * *

Jazz grunted as another kick sent him flying. Damn it. Even though the hit was hard, he was able to land with some grace. He sneered at his opponent.

_You are not listening to me._

But he was. He was listening but it wasn't working. Jazz looked at the faces of the crowd watching his spar with Counterstrike again. Fortunately, he wasn't making the same mistakes again. Only, he was making new ones.

_Calm down. Silence your systems and simply watch them. Listen._

And he did. His vents exhaled the hot puff of air, trying to cool him as he slowly circled each other with the opponent. Again, he heard every whisper, every poisonous word spoken about him. Jazz felt the anger rise once more, he can almost taste it. But he kept cool – as if there was a fire raging, but only in his spark. The rest of his body felt incredibly freezing.

Dreaded memories surfaced again as death and destruction clouded his mind. He heard the murmured surprise of many of the mecha in the room when he stopped walking and just left Counterstrike circle him – his opponent didn't have the luxury to contemplate this like the rest.

Jazz focused on his senses and feel his hands tightened around the blade, a tingling rush of sensation passing through his as he focused his hearing on even the smallest of noises in this room. A surge of something was building inside him, reading to explode. What an intoxicating feeling.

_Go._

Something so coldly spoken should inflict such of a strong reaction in Jazz, but it did. Counterstrike didn't see it coming – an attack so sudden that even Nightbeat, from a relaxed position, with his arms crossed, shifted and focused with even greater precision on the fight.

Jazz didn't notice it though. He only felt the exhilarating rush of power, fueled by pent up emotions as he delivered another strike. Counterstrike took a couple of steps back. Jazz missed Mirage's surprise and the growing frown on his face.

He didn't notice Blaster's surprise when he kicked his opponent hard, just like he had been, and sent him crushing in the opposite wall. He completely ignored the commotion in the crowed as he advanced on his pray.

What he _did_ notice was the sudden carving for energon; for screams and pain. A thirst for power that he swore he would clench. And those red optics. _Everything_ was about those red optics.

However, at that moment his audios were so finely tuned that it was impossible for him to miss the whispers among the crowd, which for the first time in a while, had nothing to do with him.

"No… he was discovered?!"

"What? Are you sure?"

"Impossible! Only with the help of a traitor - !"

"Where is he? What did the medics say?"

"Is Bumblebee even alive?"

Later, Jazz would convince himself that it was a glitch in his systems, but at that precise moment, the world suddenly started moving in slow motion. He stopped moving at all and just slumped, trying to wrap his mind around what he was hearing.

Bumblebee… Bumblebee was injured? Severely? They weren't even sure if he was alive? Absently, Jazz felt himself tremble. The scout was one of the very few mechs that Jazz still considers at some degree a friend – only on his _only_ friends. He had seen him mere couple of orns ago and now… he could be dead. Was this a joke? Was this some sick joke that Primus liked sending his way? Because Jazz was not amused.

The trembling increased and whatever weapon Jazz was holding dropped to the ground as his fists clenched. No. _No!_ His mind refused to accept Bumblebee's apparent death; refused to place him beside the many faces that will haunt his memories. Not again. _Not again_.

Jazz didn't feel the ground beneath his feet, but that was probably because of the hard punch, courtesy of Counterstrike, who apparently didn't notice the commotion in the small crowd of mechas.

Time started to flow again. A chilling voice caused something inside Jazz to shatter.

_Attack._

As if a dam had been broken, he suddenly felt himself enveloped in rage so strong, it was the reason for his tremors. All thought and reason left him. He didn't see the other mechs in the room, nor his mentor, or Blaster, or Orion, or fragging Mirage for that matter. Even those red optics faded out of existence.

All he wanted to do at that moment was to find Primus, or Fate or even their stupid Prime and sink his claws into them, because they were the reason for his friend to be probably lying somewhere dead. Unfortunately, he would have to settle with Counterstrike instead.

He didn't feel himself moving, only absently heard the feral sound his vocalizer produced as he pounced his opponent, attacking him with no restriction, as the emotions that were so well hidden and guarded, surfaced and Jazz let it all out on the mech under him.

This sense of power was simply delicious. He already craved for more.

It was pure instinct or reflex or whatever, because Jazz didn't feel it, but he smiled in pure delight as he lifted both of his clawed hands, clasped together, for the finishing blow.

It came like slap in the face, or more precisely, another kick that send him flying and Jazz realized there were other living beings in the room. He didn't even have time to process what was happening as he felt someone place a firm grip on his throat, that almost made him choke, and started to drag him somewhere, Jazz barely able to keep balance, walking like this.

This time he did see the faces of the other mechs in the room. A strange form of satisfaction arose when he saw the glint in Mirage's optics – in everyone's optics. Uncertainty, but most of all – fear.

The red optics remained unaffected.

"Tell me…" A familiar voice growled, the only reason for him not to fight off his attacker, as he was shoved to the ground in a cell block, "What in the name of Cybertron possessed you in there?" Nightbeat snarled, and for a moment, the energy bar's hum was the only sound in his cell. "What _the slag_ was that?"

"Ah heard that… somethin' has happened to Bumblebee." It was only half the truth. But he was a spy. He was not obliged to speak the truth.

Nightbeat just stared at him for a couple of agonizing second before he spoke and his voice was cold – something reserved for enemies, but with a certain edge. He was angry at Jazz.

"Oh, so that gave you permission to try and kill one of my agents?" The words shouldn't have caused him to flinch like that. They shouldn't bring out this much guilt, that he felt eating him from the inside out.

"…Wasn't tryin' ta kill him." Jazz muttered and looked at the floor.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, soldier!" The head of Ops said sternly, narrowing his optics, "I know that look. I've seen it my whole life, worse – I've wore it too many times for comfort. It's the look of a murderer. Maybe your intention wasn't to kill Counterstrike, but the lust to hurt something, to spill energon was plainly written on your face, Jazz. That visor is useless when it comes down to hiding that."

"Ah wasn't tryin' to kill him." Jazz insisted as he felt desperation fill his voice. He… didn't try to offline the other bot. He truly didn't… did he?

"We're Ops. We deal with the worst of the worst. We take care of slag so seriously fragged up, that we start to question our sanity." Nightbeat started, "But that's on missions _out there_, where the Decepticons hide. But here, we try to live as normally as we can. I make sure of that. The previous head of this division had a brutal hand – the agents where efficient but they could hardly call themselves mechas anymore. I was one of those monsters – strong, fearless, ruthless and most of all - obedient."

_He is too soft._

And Jazz knew that was an accusation.

"But this is now and I am in charge. And if that ever happens again, I will have you court-martialed, reformatted and kicked out of this army so fast you won't even know what hit you." Nightbeat threatened, "But you are still young and untamed, easily influenced. I will let this one and only time slide, but there will be repercussions."

"I understand." Jazz had the decency to look guilty.

"You are still my pupil and I plan to teach you so many things Jazz. But that will not happen if you let your emotions, that dark anger inside, control you."

Oh, how he heard the exact opposite thing not so long ago.

The senior spy gave one last glance at the mech in front of him before he started to leave.

"Wait." Jazz _had_ to know, "Bumblebee! Is Bumblebee alive?"

Nightbeat stared at him for a long moment, "Yes, barely. I'll call for a medic to tend to your injuries. They don't seem serious."

"Is he…going to _stay_ alive?"

The older mech stared at his pupil. Oh, how tired was Jazz of all the staring from everyone. Where they seeing something he wasn't?

"Ah sincerely hope so." And Jazz suddenly found himself alone in that cell block. Well… not exactly alone.

_Where you able to understand now, what power you can possess?_

Jazz slowly backed away until his back hit the wall and he slowly slid down. His clawed hands were placed in his lap and he couldn't help but stare at the energon staining them, still so very fresh.

"I…nearly killed him."

_You fought well._

"Didn't ya hear me? Ah said ah nearly killed him! Why would Ah want a power An can't control?!"

_You don't need to be afraid, Jazz. That is how power is supposed to feel like._

Jazz shook his head, "Ah need ya to… stop talking. Ah just need to get my head cleared… Ah just need…" He offlined his optics, "Ah just need ta think."

_You liked it. That power. That's why it scares you – the fact that you liked inflicting pain_.

"Prowler, Ah'll say it once and only once." Jazz gripped his helm, a headache growing strong. "Stop messin' with meh. Stop talking. Just _stop_!"

Luckily, the AI complied. Why was Jazz even mad at it? It was only telling the truth. And so was Nightbeat. He gripped his helm harder.

He can survive this. He _can_ survive this. Yet, why was the silence deafening?

* * *

**TBC**


	4. It's a mad, mad world

**Title:** Always with protection**  
Author:** pjlover666**  
Pairing:** Prowl/Jazz in the later chapters.**  
Universe:** Bayverse, AU**  
Rating:** PG13, but it might go up.**  
Warnings:** Violence.**  
Word count:** ~ 5, 100**  
Summary:** Jazz should always use protection when trying to hack the enemy. The consequences are not exactly pleasant.**  
Author Notes:** The Decepticons have not been idle this whole time. See why.

It's a little wrong of me to post such a tragedy on the first days on the new year, but it was supposed to be ready for Christmas, but RL got busy. Again, this is still very early in the war, Jazz processes things differently. Both he and Prowl have a long way to go. Next chapter won't be so dark, promise - we get to meet Jazz's old team. ;)

**Disclaimer:** Transformers doesn't belong to me.

* * *

Chapter Four: It's a mad, mad world.

* * *

The streets of Iacon were bright and flooding with life. It wasn't very often Cybertron passed so close to a star like this, and every sparkling, youngling, femme and mech was outside, enjoying the warmth, Jazz included.

The last couple of orns weren't easy. Not with him being stuck in the brig - the public one, for his utter horror. Back then it wouldn't have been such a bad thing because at least he got to talk to the guards or regular visitors. Now though, it was like he was invisible and the only thing that seemed to acknowledge his existence, not to mention give a frag about it (he disregarded the personal motives) was the damn AI. Well, at least the stupid thing kept him company in those lonely cycles.

He was very tempted back then to simply hack himself out, but figured he'd slagged off Nightbeat enough as it is. So, he heeded the AI's advice and stayed low to speed up his release. Jazz both dreaded and anticipated that moment. He was finally going to see how Bumblebee was doing, since no one wanted to update him, and Blaster and Orion were either banned from visiting him, or too busy keeping Bumblebee company in recovery, or had some other slag of a reason not to come.

Jazz had a lot of quiet time to think then. The program was mostly silent, probably still wary from his last outburst. At least that's what Jazz assumed – he can only guess how that thing processed thought. But the saboteur surprised himself when _he_ initiated conversations with it. He was a social mech by default. All of the silence was driving him insane. Jazz could almost laugh; insane – wasn't he already? Still, the brig time wasn't as lonely as he imagined it would be, and for that, Jazz was glad.

And when the orn finally came and he was released with a warning, he got a glimpse of the yellow scout, still in the medical wing. For a few painful moments, Jazz had to remind himself that his friend was still alive; that the pile of scrap on the table was his very much, still alive.

Those first bursts of anger started to rise out of nowhere again and the more he watched his crumbled friend, the more he longed for retribution.

Retribution, revenge, justice – he wanted something, _anything _that made this right.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to spend with Bumblebee. Once he was stable enough, the scout would be moved to Praxus, in a special medical rehabilitation center to speed up his progress. This base here in Iacon was one of the biggest, true, but didn't have programs that included treating patients – its main focus was military and battle. The neutral cities handled the casualties.

Bumblebee wasn't even conscious when they shipped him off. And Jazz was on patrol then, so either way, he didn't have a chance to say goodbye.

And later that night, when Jazz was casually popping the joints in his wrist, swallowed and hiding in the darkness of his quarters, he blurted at the AI, "Still think friends mean nothin'?" He asked, visor dim. His mind kept drifting to the last few orns – the empty brig, the state of Bumblebee and some other memories that he wished would simply stop surfacing of his old team.

_Yes_. The AI replied with its usual cold voice. _Do you still believe in the illogic that is your so-called 'friendship'?_

Jazz popped a joint rather forcefully with an audible clank. "Yup."

The subject was dropped after that. Things slowly started to get better. Nightbeat stopped treating him indifferently when the head of Ops decided Jazz had learned his lesson and finally he had an orn off to just relax. He replayed their short meeting. Humiliating. How could he be so Primus damn weak?

"_You said…" Jazz's vents struggled for a breath, "You said that in time, the pain will go away."_

"_I did," Nightbeat admitted, the tone showing that he wasn't talking to him as a commander, "But sometimes, I am wrong as well."_

"_Primus, Bumblebee..." Jazz shook his head, his gaze locked with the red optics of the AI, searching something – anything – in them._

_What if the scout didn't make it? What if he died as well? Just like everyone Jazz was close to. He didn't believe in curses or all of that supernatural slag. But sometimes, even he sent a prayer or two to Primus. Yet, right now, as of this moment, he felt pure undeniable anger and hatred towards this deity. No wonder their race was getting extinct, killing each other like mere savages – they were created by someone so insane that he would just stand by and watch his creations degrade in such a way and do nothing. No wonder their entire race has gone mad._

_The burning in his chest, the building up rage was getting stronger and stronger, and Jazz was starting to feel the first cracks on his sanity. It was only a matter of time before it all crumbled to pieces._

"_Jazz," Nightbeat gripped his shoulders, "I'm not so young any more. I've lived and seen a lot. I've felt love so strong it can melt the thickest of metals and felt hate that can freeze one to death. I've seen the ugliest sides of this war. But you? You're still far too young to let the war destroy what's still pure inside of you. " The head of Ops took a couple of steps back, forming the respectable distance between him and Jazz, "I mean it. You've gotten this far and have so much life ahead of you. Make it count."_

* * *

Jazz was extremely lucky to have his day off when Cybertron was passing near the sun. Luck, being said that he won a game against Blaster, who was now covering his shift at the monitors and every once and a while sending him some quite vulgar messages.

_Is there a more intimate relationship going on between you and Blaster, Jazz?_

Jazz swerved at the blunt question, glaring at the optics that flared on his screen, "We need to work on your sense of personal boundaries."

_I am required to know._

"Nope, yer _not_." Jazz waited for a group of younglings to cross the street, "Whatever, Ah shouldn't even get the right to say that to ya on this subject, Ah'm even blunter then ya are."

_You did not answer my question._

"Why do you want to know all of a sudden?"

The optics remained impassive and no voice followed.

"You know, this could me labeled as curiosity. Huh, strange." Jazz's engine practically purred in delight at the rays of sunshine caressing his plating, "Ah didn't know AI's could have emotions."

_I do not have emotions. It is simply a result of my high complexity and ability to learn, adapt and evolve._

"Uhh, can ya at least learn to not speak so drone like? It would be so much easier for communication."

_No._

"Annoying little fragger… when someone's angry, they raise their voice and narrow their optics. That's something you must've experienced since Ah've noticed a couple of times ya narrowing optics and rising volume."

_It was not intentional._

"Ah didn't say it was a bad thing. Ah actually like it; makes me feel like Ah'm talking to a normal mech."

_It makes no sense. I am not a mech._

He drove slowly, enjoying the rare peace that had settled over the city.

"Yer familiar with expressions, ya know how they look like and what they represent." Jazz went on, "It wouldn't hurt to show some of 'em."

_Illogical. There is no purpose to this. For me to show emotions, it means I must learn them. Not all emotions are pleasant and not all can be expressed without a spark._

"Pfft, you can try." Jazz would have shrugged if he could. "Emotions are there for a reason, ya know? At least, that's how I distinguish myself from, per say, that mono-opticed monstrosity called Shockwave." The AI's creator.

The optics faded out of existence and Jazz was left to deal with peaceful silence. Right now, when everything was bright as youngling's laughter filled the streets, it felt as if the war wasn't even happening, like a nightmare that one can wake up from. But like always, _always_, all good things must come to an end.

"Ah have a bad feelin'." Jazz muttered, looking around. But everything glinted in the sunlight, looking surreal.

_Your systems show no anomalies._

"Not that kind of bad!" Jazz said annoyed, "_Stop_ taking everything so literally."

_Then what do you mean?_

"Ah don't know. It's just… the 'cons have been pretty quiet, too quiet. And that's not like them."

Jazz paused to look up and admire the maze of streets and highways around the high towers. It resembled a piece of art for him. It must have been even more spectacular during the Golden Age. And during those cycles when Cybertron wasn't near a sun, they glinted in the night, painting something breath-taking with their lights. Praxus had their glowing crystals, but Iacon's had architecture that rivaled none other.

It was then that he noticed something in the distance. Something dark in the sky approaching them, fast.

"What is that?" Jazz muttered and transformed into bipedal form. He went to the nearest building and started climbing it, using his magnets. Whatever it was, it was too far for him to zoom in on it, even with his visor.

_Jazz._

"Shhh, gimme a sec." Jazz continued climbing and when he was a good distance from the ground, he looked at the darkness approaching, dread increasing.

"What _is_ that?" He asked and zoomed in. "Clouds? They form only around the polls…"

_Acid clouds._

Jazz could have sworn the optics brightened just the tiniest bit.

_You must radio for help. Everyone on the streets is in danger. _

"What?!" Jazz yelled as he started to hurriedly climb down, trying not to fall down at his frantic pace.

_They pour acid. It's a weapon that I help create. It is a perfect strategic move for the Decepticons to release it now, when Cybertron is so near to the star and everyone is outside. _

"Ya serious?!" Jazz jumped down. He felt dizzy. Why? Why does slag always happen like this?

_I do not joke._

He would have laughed but his dread simply increased, "Oh frag…" Jazz looked around the street. It was flooding with life. And the darkness was nearing. "Frag, frag, _frag_…"

::Base, do ya copy? This is Autobot Jazz and it's urgent!::

::We copy, Jazz:: Blaster answered, ::We hear ya loud and clear. What is it?::

::Well,:: Jazz looked at the approaching clouds, ::Ah'm gonna go an' call for an immediate evac. _Now_::

It's amazing how one sentence can unleash the Pit. All chaos broke loose in Autobot's HQ. Jazz wasn't an officer and the fact that his reputation among the Autobots wasn't as great, didn't help matters to speed things up. Evacuation procedures don't just happen on a whim. So much for his orn off.

::Jazz, what the slag are you thinking? No, are you _even_ thinking?:: Nightbeat snarled over the channels.

::Boss, ya gotta trust me on this! An acid storm is approaching fast!:: Jazz was bold enough to hiss, :: Ya know I won't do this without a valid reason.::

::And you know this how?::

::It's sunny and suddenly dark clouds start appearing where dark clouds shouldn't appear – that doesn't seem strange? Do a consistency scan, you'll see Ah'm right.::

_It is your visor._

"What?" Jazz focused his gaze on the optics, his own narrowing.

_The frequency and resonance of your visor. It is why you are capable of seeing the clouds._

"Wait, no one else can see this?! Well, that was just plain _awesome_." His voice couldn't have been dryer. He wanted to hit something.

_Only if the visual receptors are tuned precisely or do a consistency scans to detect the molecules. This is the newest version of this weapon. I programmed it so normal optics would not be able to track it._

"Damn it. You better be right, Prowler…" Jazz muttered as he watched the clouds come closer and closer, the world around him ignorant to the approaching danger.

_I am not wrong. The acid they pour is extremely corrosive._

"Not helping…" Jazz watched with a growing sense of horror as a couple of younglings ran past him, oblivious to the rest of the world as they played a game of tag.

::Damn it.:: Nightbeat cursed, startling Jazz, ::Alright, start herding all of the citizens in their homes or whatever shelter they can find. I'll contact all of the Autobots, along with the Enforcers, and start doing the same. Let's hope it won't be as bad as I think it will be.::

::On it.::

"Damn it, Prowler – why the frag would ya design such a thing?" Jazz glared at the optics.

_The same reason you create deadly viruses. To kill the enemy._

Saying it out loud made Jazz's energon grow cold. With a curse, he turned and started the evacuation protocol. This was going to be a long orn.

* * *

"Ah hate mass panic!" Jazz yelled in the middle of the street, though his shout went unnoticed as panicked citizens were running all around him. The laugher from earlier was replaced with fear and cries. And just like that, the peaceful scene was no more.

Every news channel and public broad cast was urging the mecha to hide. Unfortunately it created the blind panic that Jazz hated so much. A scared mech he could deal and reason with, but a panicked one? From one mess, they seemed to have a made a bigger one.

He looked up, the clouds now above them, yet no acid. Jazz didn't know should he celebrate or not. On one side, it was wonderful that he was wrong – the city and its many lives were spared, on the other side – he could kiss his carrier goodbye and face trial and probably a reprogram. He shook that thought away and tried to do something else.

"Ya okay, pall?" Jazz helped a fallen mech up. "C'mon, hurry – go find shelter."

"No, my shop is just a couple of streets down!" The mech protested.

"There's no time, mech." Jazz tried to pull him, "Leave it! It's gonna start any moment now!"

"No-"

"Ya can repair the shop! But for that to happen, ya need to stay alive!" Jazz guided him to a near building. When he looked back, the streets were finally starting to clear, but there were still mecha on them.

"EVERYONE, HIDE DAMN IT!" Jazz yelled at the top of his voice capacities. His should went unheard. He gripped his helm. Slag it, they needed to clear the streets right away, why was everyone so fragging stupid?! He growled when he got pushed by panicking mecha for the hundred time that orn.

_It is starting._

"What?!" Jazz looked up-

-only to snarl in pain when the first droplet fell on his visor, eating the crystal away, right over his left optic. The shrieks of fear all around him increased as he tried to rub the last of the acid away.

"Deactivate mah pain receptors there." Jazz growled in pain, "And get the slagging error messages out of mah way. If yer gonna camp in mah CPU, might as well do something useful."

Jazz sighed when the pain stopped and every error disappeared. His vision recalibrated so his main input came from the right optic. It was then that he heard a frightened yell to his right. He hurried over to the distressed youngling that was getting stomped on by the crowd, probably separated from his creators in the tussle.

_You must hide and seek medical attention. There is still acid in that optic._

"Shut it." Jazz cursed as he hurried over and gathered the youngling in his arms. A lightning struck out, making the trembling form in his arms cry in pain and fear. He was able to hear more cries of frightened Cybertronians in the near buildings as more lightning boomed in the sky.

Jazz hurried over to the nearest shelter, a small bar already filled with mechs and femmes.

"Hey, you're hurt." It was the same mech from before.

"It's nothin'." He muttered, "Here, can ya take him? Help find his creators?"

"Of course."

The bar was filled with the smell of burnt metal, scorched by the acid falling from the sky. Many were injured, but the younglings and sparklings were suffering the worst. Their armor simply wasn't strong enough to protect them. Jazz tried to ignore a grieving family at the far end of the bar, clutching their deactivated creation. For a moment, their keens were the only thing he could hear.

"Jazz, is that you?" A familiar voice shouted in the small room, above all the cries of fear and pain.

"Patch?" Jazz pushed his way around, "What the frag are you doing here?" Patch was one of the junior medics, part of Ratchet's class that studied under Softbite. He was a small medic, specializing in micro-surgery and very confident in his skills.

"I was sent to assist if someone got hurt." Patch explained, "Ratchet…You know that he feels these things very deeply, more deeply than most. I didn't want him…" He looked around the room, from the huddled and trembling mecha to the grieving family, "Things are about the get very ugly, aren't they?"

Ratchet was their most brilliant and promising future medic. Unfortunately, it was a well known fact that he was far too soft for this job. Jazz just stared at Patch, feeling utterly useless in this situation.

"Why am I not surprised?" Patch said quietly to himself and went over to Jazz, doing a quick scan on his optic cavity.

"Oh, so you two know each other! That's wonderful!" The same mech came over, youngling free now.

"Where's the kid?" Jazz face was roughly turned Patch's way when the saboteur looked away.

"A friend of his creators recognized him. They aren't here…I'm not sure they-"

"Clearbolt, not now." Patch said as he used one of his fingers to vacuum the last remain of acid from the optic cavity. "And before you ask, he's an Autobot. Just joined the forces. His timing is perfect, isn't it?" The medic asked darkly.

"Oh… Yeah, Ah'm Jazz." The spy winced when Patch tweaked something in his eye. The acid must have caused more damage other than the optic nerves for him to feel pain.

"Clearbolt, go check on that family over there." Patch muttered, "They shouldn't be alone-"

"Hey, look!" Someone shouted and Jazz pulled his head away from Patch, both pushing their way towards one of the windows. What he saw… Not even in his worst nightmare was Jazz prepared to see what he saw through that window.

"Primus…" Someone muttered. Jazz just stared blindly at slowly melting metal, the streets and buildings looking more and more horrifying with each passing click.

It was a graveyard outside. Those unlucky mecha who weren't able to find shelter were lying gray on the streets, bodies deformed and melted. They were so many… mechs, femmes, younglings and sparklings. The acid spared no one.

They saw a mech running in the acid, screaming in agony and pain, banging on door after door, begging someone to take him in. But they were all full, no one had room for one more. Jazz watched as the mech tripped over a gray body and fell in a puddle of acid. He never stood up.

Jazz had to look away for a moment. He felt himself trembling, paralyzed in sheer horror. His vents hitched and he couldn't take a breath. He felt like drowning and there was no one to pull him up.

"How strong is that acid?" Clearbolt asked out loud, breaking the deadly silence that seemed to have settled upon them, "It must be strong; the metal is melting so easily."

"Maybe around 65% give or take?" Patch whispered. They couldn't even begin to predict casualties.

_Exactly 70%_

Jazz clenched his fists, watching helplessly. That icy voice in his head. He wanted to punch something so hard right now, to yell, to scream - anything. "Damn it, Prowler… damn it – what in the world did ya create?" No one heard his silent mutter. He felt so small right now. Trapped in his own body, in a cage.

The optics on his HUD narrowed even more. What emotion was he displaying? Pain? Regret? Anger? Sorrow? Or nothing at all, simply mimicking Jazz's reactions? He had no way of knowing. A part of him didn't even want to.

_Jazz, there was a reason this was released precisely in Iacon. Look at the highway structure. _

With a sickening feeling, Jazz looked up and immediately wished he hadn't. "Mechs…" He breathed as he watched the support struts to the sky highways slowly getting eaten away by the acid raindrops. There were still countless mechs and femmes on them. Jazz felt his spark freeze.

"No, no, no ,no…" Patch's optics palled.

"They need to get out of there! NOW!" Clearbolt yelled.

::BOSS!:: Jazz practically screamed over the comms, ::Get everyone out from the highways! _Now_!::

::What do you think we're doing?! Drinking high-grade?!:: Nightbeat radioed back. The fact that he sounded worried didn't help. ::More than one vehicles have crashed, there's barely any movement!::

::The pillars are going to give away any moment – :: Jazz, and everyone in the small bar, watched in horror as one of the highway's support struts crumbled beneath it. It was like watching death in slow motion.

"Everyone! Back away from the window!" Jazz yelled and they tried to scoot as far away from it as the small space allowed.

The height it fell from was tremendous and when it finally hit the bottom, it shook the ground beneath their feel, with such a force that the already weakened from the acid windows, shattered on impact. The dust from the crumbled highway enveloped everything around it and mechs with normal vision were helpless. But Jazz could see. And he saw a second highway, one of the lower structures, soon followed the first one. The ground trembled as their land keened, poisoned form the falling acid, drowning and dying beneath their pedes.

Dead silence filled the cramped space. Jazz felt numb all over. The horror from earlier was replaced with a feeling hollowness. The world stopped, time frozen, and all he could hear was his ragged breathes, his vents hitching. A thousand thoughts passed his mind, but all went unheard.

And then just like that, the world suddenly started flowing again, as screams filled his audios, the mechs and femmes around him panicking, crying, all desperately trying to survive.

_Jazz-_

"Don't." Jazz didn't find the strength to yell at him, "Just…don't speak to me right now."

He had to do something – anything. This helplessness was going to kill him. He couldn't just stand by and watch idly. There must be something he could do!? But as long as the acid rain kept falling, they were all trapped.

::Boss?:: Jazz tried reaching for Nightbeat. Perhaps his leader would know what to do in such desperate times. ::Boss, can you hear me?::

He shouldn't have felt surprise when only static greeted his audios. His commander was on the highways. But was he on the one that collapsed? How were they dealing with the acid pouring down on them? The commotion around him demanded his attention. The crowd in the bar was growing more restless.

"Everyone, calm down, please!" Patch tried to sooth things but the frightened mecha were searching for something to lay out their frustrations and grief on.

"Calm down? _Calm down_?!" On mech advanced on the medic, "How dare you! Are you blind?! Do you not see the ruins and death around you!?"

Jazz slowly started to back away. He didn't want this. He wasn't ready. Not again.

"Sir, please. There's nothing we can do. Let's just-" Clearbolt tried to help but his words seemed to anger the mecha even more.

"'Nothing you can do?!' That's slag!" A different mech shouted, "You're the _Autobots_! You're supposed to protect us! How could you have not seen _this_ coming?! How, damn it!?"

Jazz backed away until his back reached the wall. The mech was right, how didn't they see this coming? No, how didn't _he_ see it coming? The stupid thing that help create this monstrosity of a weapon was in his head and he _still_ missed it. What the frag was wrong with him?

He slid down to the ground, forgotten from the world, "…Why didn't you tell me?" He glared at nothing, waiting for those optics to flare on his HUD.

_The weapon was incomplete. Too unstable. The production of the acid was too dangerous – the emanation it caused to those who breathed around it did irreparable damage to their systems. The project was closed._

"You call this… case closed?!" Jazz clenched his fists. But he was mostly angry at himself. He had an _enemy_ program inside his head – how couldn't he have thought about extracting information from it?

_There was no possible way of me knowing. Not with my data banks missing. Everything, all that I was and represented, got destroyed in the lab by you._

Jazz rubbed his face. How could have this happened? The yelling around him was hard to ignore. He looked up and saw the mecha in the bar sneering at Patch and Clearbolt.

_Are you going to stand by and do nothing?_

Jazz frowned and looked away, "As if there's something to be done. It's only a matter of time for another highway to fall and more mecha to die."

_Previous observations state that you would most like intervene. Why are you not?_

"Ya want me to help them?" The visored mech actually laugh at that, "Ohh, this is rich, coming from you."

_I am stating that these mechs need someone to take over. Anarchy like this is dangerous._

"Sorry, but I'm not the leader kind of mech." Jazz glared.

_I am trying to teach you. If you want power, you must know how to control it._

"And you picked _the_ _most_ perfect time for this lesson."

_You have to learn to lead. To take command._

"I told you," Jazz hissed at the unwavering optics, "I'm not a leader."

An ugly sound pierced the air. The creaking of metal was deafening and everyone watched how another highway fell over a smaller one, that wasn't able to support its weight and both crumbled to the ground, causing it shake with tremors. Jazz didn't even want to think how many mecha just died. It would have been better if they were simply bombed. That way the end was quick. This…this was death in pure, agonizing, slow motion.

"Get out!" someone shouted at Patch and Clearbolt. No one noticed Jazz in the back, "Leave! You are not welcomed here!"

"It's you that they want! This weapon was designed against you!"

Both Autobots were forced to back away, as the enraged crowed was forcing them to leave. Jazz glared.

"We don't want you here!"

"This is your fault!"

This was a death sentence. They wouldn't last five breems out there. Their race truly had gone mad.

"Go away! That sparkling and many more are dead because of you!" They pointed at the gray little body, clutched by its carrier.

_Jazz_.

Something in him snapped. He stood up. "_SILENCE_!" And yelled at everyone, both mech and AI. His shout got punctuated by firing his weapon at the side, starling the crowd even more and making whatever younglings and sparklings took shelter here, to burst into terrifying sobs. All of their attention was directed at him now, optics filled with so much pent up fear.

"Hasn't there been enough death for on one orn?! Enough bloodshed?!" He yelled in the silence, "Yes, we the Autobots fragged up. We _should_ have seen this coming but we didn't. I know this slag of a life isn't fair but it's all we have." He shook his head, "If you think that I'll let another life be lost, better think again. You'll have to do through me first ya bunch of fraggers."

No one dared to say a word. There was something in his words. He was _not_ taking command. Jazz simply refused to let someone else die because of the stupidity of their race. Enough is enough.

"They are trying to help you! Why won't ya let them?! He's a medic for crying out loud!" Jazz used his blaster to motion at Patch, "He can help you and you want to kill him by sending him out to die! Idiots, the lot of ya."

"What…what are we supposed to do now?" Everyone looked with surprise at the small youngling who asked that. It was the same one Jazz had saved earlier this orn.

What _were_ they supposed to do? Even Jazz wasn't sure how to answer that question. The silence that stretched out was deafening. In the quiet of the room they could all hear the gentle fall of acid raindrops. It sounded so soothing in contrast to the crude reality. They represented death and nothing more.

"We wait." He started, "We wait for the rain to stop and try to survive. That's all we can do. Survive." Jazz walked away, over to the back, feeling all of the optics on him.

"Thank you, Jazz." Patch came up, "If you haven't intervened…"

"They're scared. They have no control over their lives and that scares them." And that was something he could relate. He wasn't looking at the medic. Jazz felt gentle hands lift his face and Patch continued working on his optic in silence.

The red optics did not fade but the AI didn't say anything either. Just kept a silent vigil over Jazz. Though, there was nothing worth saying anyway. The program would never say words to comfort him, because there were no such words. Yet, the mere though that it was _there_, that Jazz wasn't alone, was oddly comfort enough.

This wasn't a good orn, it wasn't. For tonight, death celebrated as Iacon continued to melt.


	5. Distant Orns, Empty Words

**Title:** Always with protection**  
Author:** pjlover666**  
Pairing:** Prowl/Jazz in the later chapters.**  
Universe:** Bayverse, AU**  
Rating:** PG13**  
Warnings:** Violence.**  
Word count:** ~ 6,600**  
Summary:** Jazz should always use protection when trying to hack the enemy. The consequences are not exactly pleasant.**  
Author Notes: **All of our actions have consequences, Jazz is about to find that out the hard way.

No, I have _not_ forgotten or abandoned this story! RL is just very busy. This story, this entire 'verse here, is _huge_. There is still a lot more plot to go. Thank you all for your patience and kind words! I treasure them all.**  
**

* * *

Chapter Five: Distant Orns, Empty Words

* * *

For the first time in Cybertron's history, everyone was happy that the planet was no were near any suns. The everlasting night has returned and only artificial light illuminated the streets, showing the carnage that was yet to be fixed. Iacon was scarred along with its mecha, and those who were still alive shall remember that day for the rest of their functioning.

Today was a dark page in the history archives as all who were capable of walking where attending the service that the Prime was giving in front of City Hall. More than one third of Iacon's population was lost yet there was no end to the crowd on the streets. Most of them bore heavy scars, indicating direct exposure to the acid rain. More than a few mecha were keening for lost loved ones.

That orn, Jazz was hiding in the shadows of a corner close enough to have a good view of the Prime when he would give the speech, but far away so that no one noticed him there. He took the scene before him with somber optics, feeling tightness in his chest. After the rain had stopped, he had helped clean the bodies from the streets and help lift the debris from the fallen highways. When that orn was over, Jazz had been covered in so much energon that no matter how hard he scrubbed afterward, he could still feel it creeping up his frame.

Mechs, femmes, younglings and sparklings – he had lifted body after body, cleaning the streets as if he were handling mere trash. The death count continued to grow with each new passing orn, as more and more mecha died from too severe injuries, but mostly bonded couples followed after their mates towards the Matrix.

The control over the production of energon was strongly enforced after this. The rain had contaminated the energon reserves, causing severe shortage. All of the soldier's fuel, from two cubes per orn, was reduced to one. Not many were happy with this revelation. And just like now, Jazz had stood in the shadows and watched how slowly everything around him had gone to the Pits.

_The Decepticons had a solid strategy._

"Yes." Jazz would not deny that. "But tell me somethin', Prowler. What worth does a victory like this have for them? Barely thirty percent of the victims are Autobots. The rest are civilians." The crowd before him, starving, wounded – _dying_ – was proof enough to that statement. This was war, and even in his young age, Jazz had seen a lot of it. But he was not prepared to see _this_. He never once believed the Decepticons would go this far. Yet, when he pulled out of the debris a sixth deactivated frame of a sparkling, his reality shifted, and he came to the conclusion, that there would always, _always_ be something more horrifying waiting for you when you think that you've seen it all.

"How can anyone expect to rule Cybertron when there's nothin' left to rule?" Jazz muttered darkly. A king without a kingdom was like a Prime without a Matrix.

_There are always innocent casualties in warfare. It was an expected outcome._

"Ah know _that_." He hissed, "War isn't just some stupid numbers." And instead of arguing, the AI remained silent. The spy sighed warily as he gazed at the red optics.

"Jazz, that you over there?" Surprised, Jazz tilted his head back only to see Clearbolt, walking along with a very familiar youngling and not so much familiar dark green mech. He really wasn't in the mood to talk with anyone, but come to think of it, that's all he felt these last few meta-cycles.

He smiled at the youngling, "Hey there little buddy. Lookin' good."

"Yup." The little blue mechling smiled back, "The medics fixed me up pretty fast. Said I was lucky that ya found me." He instantly pressed close to Jazz.

The spy realized how alienated physical contact had become for him, because Jazz barely stopped himself from stepping out of the youngling's grip, but a part of him relished in the feeling of the pure trust and little arms around him. Jazz petted his head.

"Nova, that's rude ya know?" Came a chuckle from the unknown mech, but bore sub harmonics to his vocals that Jazz could associate with the youngling. Even so, the spy's stance shifted just the tiniest bit, placing himself between the green mech and mechling at his side.

"Jazz, this is Buzzer; Nova's legal guardian." Clearbolt answered, and then privately added, ::His creators didn't make it. Don't worry, he's clean, I checked him out.::

"Name's Jazz." They shook hands and he slightly relaxed but not by much. His sensors picked up something but Jazz couldn't be sure what – it was so small that only his sensor horn relays detected it, something about the other mech's field. Surprisingly, the AI was still remaining silent, sensors primed on the youngling. Was it unsettled by it?

"Buzzer." The mech smiled, "So, ya preferred to watch this live as well?"

Jazz shook his head, "Don't care really." He couldn't spend a click longer in that base turned graveyard. They had to store the bodies somewhere before getting smoldered and the hospitals were overflowing with injured mecha to spare the space. He turned towards Clearbolt.

"Have ya seen Orion?"

The mech shook his head. "No. Not since I last saw him helping the cleanup crews as well."

Jazz frowned. He knew Blaster was probably locked in his room that was equipped with enough tech to pitch in the live feed and public cameras around city hall. Blaster wasn't on the streets but he was handling the camera feeds that orn. He saw _everything_. From what Jazz heard, his friend hasn't recharged properly ever since.

"He's probably at the library then…" He trailed off. Orion didn't need to witness history in the making. He was more content writing about it. And what a grim history it was.

"So, you're an Autobot as well?" Buzzer asked. Jazz simply puffed his chest, showings his auto-brand, as if saying 'Are you blind?'.

"Jazz's the Autobot that saved me!" Nova smiled again at Jazz and had to marvel at how quickly youngling bounced back, how they have the strength to find a reason to smile so easily like that.

"Then I know who to thank." Buzzer smiled, gratitude glinting in his optics. "His creators were close friends of mine; I know they will want you to hear this: Thank you."

For a moment, Jazz stiffened. Those words sounded so distant and empty in his processor yet, somehow, they made his spark spin faster. Thankfully, the commotion in the crowd distracted their group to look at the podium. The frightened crown shifted their attention to the mech coming out of the building – the Prime and his Senate. Jazz absently felt his claws twitch, noting with distaste that not one of them sported any injuries or scars or anything for that matter that indicated exposure to the acid. A stark contrast to their shaken public. Oh, how the irony hurt.

The speech would be broadcasted live all around Cybertron. Jazz would lie if he said he wasn't interested in the speech. What could be said after this tragedy? Sorry? We'll try not to disappoint next time? Empty words and nothing else.

Jazz crouched next to Nova and placed his hands on the youngling's shoulders, directing his gaze towards Cybertron's leader. When he spoke, the spy's voice was a whisper, so only the child heard him.

"Listen closely kiddo," Jazz rumbled, "See and learn how a Prime schmoozes his people and hides the truth in the obvious."

Confused, Nova just slightly tilted his head to the side, not fully understanding what Jazz was trying to say. Still, his optics were trained on the podium, carefully observing it.

"Citizens of Iacon, fellow Cybertronians." The words boomed all over Cybertron. Millions of optics gazed at this one mech. Would he be able to light their darkest hour?

Red optics on his HUD flared as Jazz's narrowed behind the visor.

"We faced off an incomprehensible tragedy." Sentinel Prime looked at the cameras broadcasting him live.

"Observe how he's trying to make us equal to him." Jazz explained to the youngling, "To make us feel just as important." A lie that not even the Prime himself was believing, but was selling to his public like the cheapest of energon. A starved mech would take anything, and that was how the crowd was reacting, drinking in every little piece of hope presented to them.

"We survived! We overcame that monstrous orn and now we stand here together, _alive_." Sentinel spread his arms wide and welcoming, optics glowing a soft blue.

"The mech even has the nerve to use "we". Look closely Nova, look how they don't sport even the slightest of cracks on their plating."

The speech continued, the Prime avoiding the mess of things like none other. With each new word, Jazz more and more disliked the mech. Was he the only one who saw through this charade? Even Prowler was silent, but the damn thing was probably recording this to analyze for later.

"This will not happen again!" The words echoed around them.

"See through the empty promises he makes." Jazz said, not sparing a moment. "Because words _are_ nothing but empty air."

"He lies." Nova said unsure, trying to understand.

"I promise you that victory will be ours, no more innocent lives will be lost like this."

"Big words." The spy said quietly, visor not leaving the Prime.

"More lies." The youngling said and tried to back away but Jazz held him in place.

"Yet, every mech believes them." The visored mech said, "You are witnessing another tragedy Nova, see the appalling silence of the good people as not even a single one of them raises their voice."

"Why don't you raise your voice?" Finally Nova looked away from the podium, looking curiously at the gray mech.

"As if mah voice could make a difference." Jazz snorted and patted the youngling on the head before he stood up. He saw Clearbolt's disapproving optics.

::Jazz… ::

The spy made a dismissing noise, ::Hey, someone's gotta teach the kid how life truly works.::

::But filling his head with such dangerous thoughts about the fragging _Prime_ is not just wrong and dangerous, but plain stupid.::

Sentinel Prime slowly came down from the podium, walking beside his people, patting most of them on their shoulder and plating, being like the supportive leader he should be. Flashes of cameras, shouts of joy and glee filled the air. And as if the tragedy from mere orns ago didn't happen, the streets where once again filled with life. Because the mecha on them felt alive. At least for that Jazz couldn't blame his Prime for. It was impressing, how one mech could inspire so much faith and belief in the people. Was Jazz just seeing what he wanted to see, that their Prime wasn't what he claimed to be? Is he so used to the war around him that he didn't know how to look at the world without it? And just for a moment, Jazz wondered if it would've been better if he was just as blind as the rest. Because, after all, ignorance was bliss.

No, he thrived for knowledge, for the truth. He wore a visor, but he was not blind. It was then that someone shouted 'All hail the Prime' and Jazz couldn't help himself but chuckle darkly.

"Y'know, their stupidity is actually amusing, following blindly like that." He tilted his head, "I'm getting' out of here."

"But it's barely started!" Nova protested as he held Jazz's hand, "C'mon, stay just a little longer Jazz, please?"

Jazz stared at those big innocent optics, filled with so much life. He stared and for the first time, he felt nothing. He was numb.

"Sorry kiddo, but I have some errands to do." He gave the child a teasing smile, "But I promise to make this up to you! I'll take you out one evening, just the two of us if Buzzer over there allows, eh?"

That seemed to work because Nova smiled brightly, "You promise?"

"Yup." Jazz patted Nova's helm and turned towards the two adults. He gave them a mock salute with two digits, ignored Clearbolt's frown and left on his way. Far, far away from this entire crowd and unseeing optics.

Jazz reached the Autobot HQ, that had so many acid scarring that it made mechs cringe from just looking at it, he entered the building after a dozen of security checks (no one was taking security lightly here, not any more) and slowly made his way to the med bay.

"Yer quiet." Jazz said, placing a hand on his audio horn to look like he was using the comms.

_There is nothing for me to say._

"Right. You probably hate wasting your time in small talk." The spy sighted. The red optics just kept staring at him and Jazz wondered absently if some orn he'll get used to the scrutiny.

_Your fuel levels are low._

That made Jazz snort, "Should I count this one as an attempt? More of a failure if ya ask me. Small talk really isn't your thing."

He stopped in front of the closed doors of the med bay. It actually sent a chill down his spine struts. There were injured Autobots there, but only a couple of levels down, the morgue was stored in the same spot. It was rather anticlimactic.

_What is your purpose here?_

"Gotta visit someone." Jazz said and with a sigh let himself in. Just like he had expected, the largest room that was used as an ER was full. Little drones glided between the berths, constantly checking fuel lines, delivering energon to those who could consume it and offering more pain killers for mecha that need that as well.

"Jazz? What the frag are you doing here? Don't tell me you damaged your optic again!"

Jazz smirked at the kind medic. Everyone loved Ratchet, he was so much… _nicer_ than Softbite. Though, the medic's state almost made the spy lose his smile.

_Observation deducts that the medic is most likely exhausted._

'Ya think?', was what Jazz wanted to blurt out but Ratchet was in too close hearing range. "Hey Ratch'. You look like slag."

The medic glared, "Shut yer trap." And promptly scanned the spy, "Besides a little under fueled, you're fine. So, that brings us to the question, what are you doing here?" Ratchet crossed his arms.

"Came to visit someone." And looked around, but when he couldn't find him, looked back at the medic, "Where is Nightbeat?"

The head of Ops had been dug out from under the debris of one of the fallen highways. It was a miracle he had survived. Jazz wasn't there when his boss was found, but from what he had been told, he wasn't a pretty sight for the optics.

The last time Jazz had seen Nightbeat, he was in the deepest possible stasis lock, and wouldn't come out of it soon. The fact that he wasn't here could only mean… Jazz tried to keep the worry our of his field as he waited for answers.

Ratchet sighed, "He's in surgery. Softbite hasn't been able to leave his side for 8 joors straight now. Nightbeat just keeps on crashing."

The relief that hit Jazz was so strong he had to offline his optics, "Ah, I see."

"You won't be able to see him anytime soon. Even after surgery he'll be in the ICU for a long, long time." Ratchet explained tiredly.

Jazz nodded and moved aside so a drone could pass by, "So, why aren't you in there, helping your mentor but rather stuck out here?"

"Because I'm needed out here more. We don't have enough medics and the critical patients are more than we would have liked." The red and white mech gestured to the overly full room. "Say, Jazz. Will Ops have a new commander? Nightbeat will be out of commission for a while."

The spy leaned on a berth and tilted is head back, thinking, "We've been debriefed that we'll have a temporary new commander. Your medical ward will probably get the same memo but it's probably delayed because of, well," He gestured the injured around them, "This chaos. All we know is that he's getting pulled out from deep undercover. No one knows when he'll arrive and only the officers know his real designation and how he looks like."

"I see." Ratchet cycled his optics.

"Hey," Jazz gently placed a hand on the medics arm, "Get some rest, yeah? I really mean it Ratchet, ya look exhausted."

"Hah, yeah." Ratchet shook his head, trying to clear it. One monitor started beeping and the medic actually shuddered. By the time he looked back, Jazz was already gone.

0000

_The way to the recreation room is the other way around._

"Well, good thing I don't want to go there, right?" It shouldn't be so much fun to try and frag off the AI, but Jazz sure as Pit was enjoying it. "And besides, I haven't seen Orion in a while." He wondered should he try reaching Blaster, but respected when someone needed their space in order to get their thoughts in order.

"Hey…" Jazz started uncertain, "Can you tell me the statistics of Nightbeat's recovery?" Because it didn't look good. Not at all. And Jazz wanted to be… expecting if it happened. That thought alone made him shudder. Nightbeat was the best mentor he had had – it was he who had discovered Jazz's talents and included him in Ops. He was the mech that had introduced Jazz to his team and created bonds with them… and he was the only one who had visited him in the med bay after that dreaded mission.

_Are you sure you want to know?_

"What kind of a question is that? I'm asking, aren't I?" Jazz asked annoyed.

_He has 17, 91 % chances of making a full recovery._

Jazz tripped. He fell on the ground and for a moment he didn't have the strength to get up. Another face to haunt him, another fading memory. Why didn't Ratchet tell him? But then, he remembered that the medic always had trouble handing in bad news, but Jazz had the suspicion this wasn't the case. Perhaps Softbite had known that Nightbeat's case might be inoperable one and tried to spare Ratchet from one more death? Jazz shook his head. The red optics looked narrowed.

_This is why I was reluctant to inform you._

Jazz sneered, "Frag this." He was angry again, at the world, at himself – at everything that moved. "Where the slag is Orion?!" He hissed and got up, storming out to find the archivist.

"Watch it!" Jazz growled as he bumped into someone.

"Ah, sorry! I can't seem to navigate myself here yet!" An unfamiliar voice started, "All this corridors look the same."

It was after Jazz got a good look of the mech that he noticed the wound on the mechs hand, or the fact that there was _no hand_ at all.

"Primus! What in the world happened mech?!" Jazz was came at the mechs side, helping him up. "It looks like that hand is melted right off!" Was the mech tortured? What could have caused this? Battle protocols hummed to life.

"This? Oh, it's nothing." The mech actually smiled, or Jazz thought he smiled. It was hard to tell with the mechs mask on, "I was trying to create a repellent strong enough to sustain the acid we have been bombed with. Unfortunately, there has been an error in my calculations. I was on my way to the med bay."

Jazz just stared at the mech. What in the world…?

_Is he suffering CPU problems?_

Even the AI was confused by the strange mech. But Prowler tended to not understand things that weren't logical.

"Uhh, it's two corridors down and go left. You'll see two big double doors there. It has a big sign on it. Ya can't miss it." Jazz just stared at him, actually amused by the insanity of it all. At least his foul mood was momentarily forgotten.

"Thanks you! I'm Wheeljack, by the way." He extended his uninjured hands which Jazz took, "Nice to meet you. I'm new in Engineering."

"I'm Jazz, part of Ops."

_Jazz, fuel._

"Oh fine, you overbearing nanny-bot. Uhg, just shut up already." Jazz couldn't stop himself and looked not a little worriedly at Wheeljack. "Ah, uh sorry. I was on the comm when we bumped."

"It's quite alright. Though, if you would like, come by my work station. I've been working on a new project for you spies. It's a prototype for internal comm. system. No longer will you need to gear up, but it's directed right inside your internal hearing system."

Now _that_ would be useful! Not only for their missions as a whole, but for communication with the abomination of an AI camping in his CPU.

"That's amazing!" Jazz exclaimed.

"I know, right?" Wheeljack laughed but it was short lived as he winced, "Well, I better go now. I think I'm feeling a little light headed here from the energon loss. I work at Lab 08, come by anytime."

And with that, Jazz watched the strange mech make his way towards the med bay. He shook his head, feeling a little amused. He turned around, only to remember he didn't know where Orion might be.

"Great. How in the world can I find that fragger now?" Jazz crossed his arms, thinking.

_You can track him via Telatraan's network._

Jazz's visor flared, "I'll never be able to pass the security network unnoticed. Only officers have the codes and I'm still not good enough to do it on my own."

_Not if I do it._

That comment made Jazz frown. He was quick to make his way into a small storage closet. Before the door had even closed, the spy was already hissing, "Oh frag no. Why would I let the enemy straight into our network? Do you really think me that dumb?"

_Essentially, I agree. But you still haven't come to terms that I am not your enemy. Not anymore._

"I still don't trust you."

_Yes, I figured as much._

"What was that?" Jazz glared, visor shining in the dark room, "I see someone's learning emotions."

_Believe me when I say that I am not. Though I'm unable to stop the small feedback I am receiving from you._

"Frag that, I'm still not letting you anywhere near Telatraan." Jazz said, final, "I'll find him the hard way then."

The AI remained silent and Jazz got out of the closet, frustrated.

* * *

In the end, after spending more than two joors searching, Jazz's short patience was just that – short lived. With a grumble, he subspaced his energon cube and headed towards the landing docks. He always preferred to drink his fuel there when agitated like this, and there was always something calming in the ever-lasting Cybertronian starry night. They all had too much sun these last few days.

The landing docks were usually pretty empty this time of the night, safe for the guards that always patrolled there. But Jazz knew a place that was hidden from their route and was perfect for nights like this.

_You should report it._

"Are ya nuts?" Jazz expertly snuck around the guards, being easily one with the shadows, "Give away _my_ spot? Fat chance."

_It is a blind spot in your security. Also, if you let me in Telatraan, I could find all of the detrimental places like this one in your security network._

"Listen you paranoid glitch. There is no way the cons could discover this place. Sure, it can serve as a hiding spot – but it's just that. You can use it to neither sneak in, nor sneak out. So shut yer trap and let me have some peace and quiet!" Jazz huffed, tempter short.

Though, the spy had to admit that he was distracted, because he noticed the company he had until he was standing right in front of it. Orion was sitting on the ground, a dozen of data pads spread around him as he typed on another one. There was a half full energon cube next to him, obviously forgotten.

Jazz sighed, "Fate has a funny way of fragging me in the face." He made his voice louder, smirking when Orion jumped, not expecting the company.

"Jazz?" The archivist asked optics bright, "What are you doing here?"

"Fragger, why don't you answer your comms? I've sent you about a dozen messages." Jazz walked the distance between them and promptly seated himself next to his friend, "I've been searching you for two straight joors damn it."

"Ah, apologies." Orion murmured, "I was not in the mood for company."

Jazz just looked him over, noted the dull color of his armor and sighed. Everyone was having a hard time these last few orn. Jazz was surprised that he was handling this so well, but it was probably because he had an annoying AI constantly checking his status and reminding him to refuel. Damn thing.  
But even he was forced to admit that the orns weren't as lonely as they would have been if Prowler wasn't there, well, prowling his mind.

"Yeah, I figured." Jazz said, "Though this is my place too, y'know? Found it a couple of vorns back, when Darker showed it to me." Saying his name no longer brought him pain. Just loneliness.

"Ah, well that explains it. If there was a nice shadowy place with a good view, Darker would sniff it out." Orion placed the pad away, "But I am impressed that you speak so freely about him. It's been a while…"

"I guess…" Jazz started, "I guess there's so much a mech could take, you know? You just get used to all the slag that's happening to ya and learn to live on."

"But it's not easy." Finished Orion.

"Primus no." Agreed Jazz and the two fell in a comfortable silence, watching the stars. And if Jazz concentrated, he could even hear the quiet sub harmonics of Cybertron's inner workings. After all, the planet was alive, just like them.

Casually, Jazz pulled out his cube of energon when the AI narrowed its optics at him to _finally_ fuel, "What's with the pads?" The spy took a long gulp, hating himself to admit that he really was hungry.

"Remember Ariel?" Orion asked and there was something different in his voice.

"That sweet femme you always acted like an idiot when she was around? Sure, I liked her. Made you loosen up." Jazz grinned when the larger mech glared at him.

"I'll take that as a yes." Orion sighed, "We've been… writing to each other."

Jazz's visor sparked with interest, "Oh really?"

"Yes. She's currently in Praxus with the Peace Corp but after what happened…" The archivist trailed off, "She getting assigned here."

"Well, that's awesome news mech!" Jazz said brightly, but deflated when he saw Orion's worried look. "What's wrong?"

"Everything." Orion said, and Jazz was surprised to admit that he's never heard his friend so…dark, "Iacon is not safe. We saw that first hand. It's even less safer to travel. If she comes here, I won't be able to protect her, the Autobots come first, you know this."

Understanding dwelled inside Jazz and he smiled softly, gently, "The last time Ah saw her, she was one hard-ball femme. I think she can handle herself if need be, Orion." the spy waited until the larger mech looked at him, "This is war, and we both see and know it's not getting any better. Only worse. Nowhere is safe. Who knows, even neutral cities like Praxus and Altihex are in danger. And Iacon, that was probably considered the safest place on the planet, suffered irreparable damage."

"You are not helping me." Orion sighed.

"Hey, I'm just trying to show you thing from the positive side." Jazz playfully nudged him.

"That being said by one of the darkest mechs I know." The blue mech shook his head.

Jazz gazed at his drink, watching the energon swirl, "Well, I wasn't always like that. There was a time that I could make even that fragger who trained us, Ironhide chuckle."

"No, you weren't." Orion looked at him, "What happened to you Jazz? What happened over there?"

Jazz drew his knees closer and sighed. Surprisingly, he was feeling at peace with himself, "Death. That's what happened."

Orion just watched him for long, quiet moment, "You died with them as well. Or at least, the part of you that was alive." The large mech said. Jazz chuckled.

"That's deep."

"It's the truth."

"Yeah."

Silence stretched between them. At one point, Jazz contemplated on retracting his visor, but decided against it. He hadn't done so since that mission, the only exception was for medical reasons.

"D'ya think we'll see the end of the war?" Jazz asked and looked at Orion.

"I hope so." The other mech murmured, "You're young, we both are."

Jazz just hummed, accepting the small talk. Well, there at least was someone who knew how to have some casual conversations.

"He you heard anything from Bumblebee?" The blue mech asked. Jazz only shrugged in response.

"No, nothing. Blaster's been watching the airwaves, but nothing. Hope he's doing well."

"Yes." Orion looked at his friend, considering his next words, "Remember that time Softbite literally wielded you to the medical berth?"

Jazz laughed. It was such a warm sound. It was not forced, nor bitter and full irony and mock mirth. It was Jazz. And Orion didn't realize until then how much he had missed it.

"Yeah, I never believed the fragger would do it." Jazz snickered, "But luckily, Darker came late that night and removed the wields."

"Ah, but if memory is correct, he did have his fun before he did that." No one knew what sort of relationship there was between Jazz and Darker. Both were players. But they did warm each other's berths often enough, especially after harder missions.

"Everyone knew he was kinky as the Pits." Jazz snorted, "But he knew what he was doing."

"Please, don't give me mental images." Orion shuddered.

"Though I'll never forgive him." Jazz said suddenly.

"You were the devious one, not him." After a moment, the archivist added, "Alright, he had his moment as well. But what had he done that you still hold a grudge against him?"

"He died."

Jazz said and the now empty cube he held cracked from the force of his grip. "I'll never forgive him for dying."

_Jazz._

"That idiot promised me that we'll live to see the end of the war, so we could travel the Universe together. He wanted to see organics of any kind so badly. Kind of grouse if ya ask me, but like I said, fragger was weird."

Jazz shivered when he felt a hand on his shoulder but didn't force himself to smile. Not this time, because it would be fake.

"Ah miss him, all of them." Jazz started at his cube with bitter fascination.

"They will not be forgotten." Orion promised, "Never, I'll make sure of that."

"A promise of an archivist, eh?" Jazz glanced him from under his visor. "I'll hold you up to that when we see the end of the war."

_Such a promise is dangerous._

'But necessary.' Jazz thought in response, not caring that the AI couldn't hear him.

_A soft expression with blue optics cold as ice warmed his spark. Jazz stared uncertain as a black hand was outstretched for him in silent support. Nothing else mattered._

_Jazz lifted his hand, feeling the other firmly grasp it, before he was pulled to his pedes without letting go and he felt the ground beneath his feet. The world froze as that one mech smiled._

"We should go see Blaster." Jazz suddenly said, "He shouldn't be alone."

"He probably needs more time…"

"Time's up." Jazz said suddenly determined, "C'mon. I'm not doing this alone."

Surprised at the sudden order, Orion was quick to gather his pads and scramble to his pedes, following his smaller companion. Frag discretion, Jazz simply waved off the guards and ignored their disapproving glares; he'll deal with them later.

It wasn't long before they reached Blaster's quarters. Like expected, they remained locked.

"This isn't funny Blaster!" Jazz pounded on the door, but the music playing inside was nearly deafening. "It's been long enough, _come on out._"

"Perhaps this isn't the right way…" Orion tried to soothe. He hadn't seen Jazz so powered up in a while.

"Frag this." Jazz suddenly said and crouched in front of the door's lock in an obvious attempt to hack it.

"We'll get into so much trouble for this…" Orion muttered, glancing around nervously at the cameras.

"Pfft, what else is new?" Jazz said, distracted. In less than a breem, they heard the door unlock.

_You have improved. Excellent._

Jazz ignored the compliment and motioned for Orion to follow him. The quarters were a mess – data pads everywhere, the music now even louder once inside. And of course, Blaster was there, sitting behind his desk, viewing something on the camera feeds.

Jazz frowned and made his way inside, turning off the deafening music.

"Please don't turn off my music." Blaster muttered.

"Frag music." Jazz said, "C'mon, let's go. We're getting you out of here; I don't care if we have to drag you out to do it."

His statement remained ignored and Jazz growled in frustration. Fine, fragger wanted to play like this? The spy would humor him.  
Jazz calmly made his way over to the desk and in a move that no one saw coming shoved the computer off it, letting it break and clatter loudly on the ground.

"What the frag?!" Blaster exclaimed and stood up from his seat, the chair falling behind him. Instead of answering Jazz simply gripped Blaster's collar (much to Orion's horror) and pulled the mech over the desk, before starting to drag him towards the door.

"Jazz! _Enough_! What has gotten into you?!" Blaster slapped Jazz hand away, promptly falling to the ground. "This isn't funny!"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Jazz asked darkly.

"I don't know what in the world is up with you, but it stops now. Get out of my quarters." Blaster pointed at the door.

"No."

"Jazz!" Still on the ground, Blaster gripped his helm in sheer frustration, "Don't you get it? I just want to be alone for a while, okay? We all respected you when you needed your privacy after that mission."

Jazz suddenly snapped and growled, "It was not what I needed back then."

"Needed? You didn't even _want_ to talk to us!" Blaster accused.

"Those are two separate things," Jazz glared down, "I didn't want your support and Primus did I show it. And I'm sorry I realized that so late, but I did _needed_ it." He explained, "Trust me, I know this feeling, just as I know that right now, you need to be with us, and not here, alone. So yeah, I'm either going to drag you out here forcefully, or you'll come to your senses and come to the rec room, with us."

The silence that stretched out between them was deafening, even Orion was having a hard time not to fidget. Jazz smiled softly, a memory of someone dear filling his thoughts, visor nearly ice-blue and reached down with his hand.

Blaster stared uncertainly at the outstretched hand before his need for contact, for friends, won out and he reach back as well, feeling the other grip him tightly in support, before getting pulled up to his pedes. He felt the ground beneath his pedes.

"You have the strangest mood-swings." Blaster shook his head, their hands still entwined.

"Tell me about it." Jazz muttered and turned to grin at Orion, "Told you it'll work."

"Surprisingly, yes." Orion chuckled softly, watching his friends.

It was intriguing, fascinating. For the first time in so long, something had changed. They had changed. And Jazz not only could feel it, but see it with his optics as well. He had smiled again, and it was not forced. Primus, Jazz never realized someone could miss smiling so much. And just for a couple of moments, they could forget the war, the tragedies as the world suddenly seemed brighter, lighter filled with laughter.

Of course, it was too good to last.

"Autobot, designation Jazz?"

The trio looked surprised at the strange mechs standing before their table. Two of them looked like guards, but the third one was…unnerving to say the least. He was of sleek frame, completely back. While Nightbeat had splotched of gray here and there, this mech didn't. The only other color was the strange purple color of his visor, a most unnatural color, given who their enemy was. No one liked the smile on his face, optics hidden.

Face going neutral, Jazz lowered his cube of high grade, "Who's askin'?" The rec room had gone eerie quiet, every 'bot listening in and watching the spectacle. The tension was growing with each passing click and it was only a matter of time before it exploded.

"Autobot Jazz, you are hereby arrested for aiding the Decepticons––"

"What?!" Both Orion and Blaster exclaimed, jumping from their seats as many gasps filled the room around them, optics never leaving the scene.

"––And the resulting destruction upon Iacon until further notice. Please do not resist."

Jazz couldn't even if he wanted, too shocked to even protest as a sudden feeling of numbness overtook him when the guards placed his hands in stasis cuffs behind his back, the electricity stinging and rendering his servos useless. Red optics narrowed.

_Jazz._

As if that woke him from his stupor, Jazz tested the cuffs and couldn't stop his engine from revving, "_What!?_ That's absurd!" He glared at the guards, then his gaze settled upon the third mech.

A low chuckle made everyone look at the strange purple visor. He walked up to Jazz and gripped his chin, forcing them visor to visor, deep blue against dark violate.

"Oh, this will be so much fun." The mech purred so only those around them heard it.

Jazz violently jerked his head away, "And who the frag are ya supposed ta be?"

The mech placed clawed hands on slender hips, visor glinting, looking Jazz up and down, "Your new boss, agent. I'm the current head of Ops, while poor ol' Nightbeat licks his wounds." He leaned next to Jazz's audio horn, "That is, if he survives."

"Name's Dryclaw and I truly hope you'll be able to remember it once I'm done with you. I do hate repeating myself." The mech spoke casually and with a flick of his wrist, the guards started dragging Jazz out.

Jazz glanced at his friends, staring back at him utterly lost at what to do. He tried to muster whatever pride he had and walked out with his helm held high. But he couldn't stop the near-silent murmur that escaped him, knowing what was to come.

"Prowler…"

The optics flared on his screen, not leaving his side. It was enough, it had to be. He was not alone, he tried to convince his mind.

But he only came to one conclusion, and that is that all good things, had suddenly come to an end.

* * *

**TBC**

**Disclaimer:** Transformers doesn't belong to me.


End file.
